Burzumishi Krimpatul or In the Darkness Bind Them
by Alison Gross
Summary: An innocent peasant girl finds herself a political pawn at a dark and sinister court, with only wits and luck to help her not only survive but win the ultimate prize.  A bit like Anne Boleyn and Jane Seymore-If you liked "The Tudors" you might like this.
1. Chapter 1

Hi, everyone, this is my first public story. I hope you all enjoy. It's set in the Second Age, sometime after the forging of the Ring and before the downfall of Numenor. I'm very familiar with the material in Tolkien's (more) finished works and this draws very heavily on material from the _Silamrillion_. However, I know pretty much nil about material in the _Lost Tales_ so, if this contradicts something there, please be understanding. A quick note on pronouns: A number of characters in the story believe Sauron to be a God and, therefore, capitalized pronouns are used to refer to him when the story is told from the point of view of these characters. But, when it is told from the point of view of those, like himself or the Lord of the Nazul, who don't hold this view, at least not in the same way, capitals are not used. Sorry if this is confusing. I just didn't want anyone to think I was sloppy with my pronouns. Chapter one is mostly just introducing the characters and setting the scene so try to be patient if it seems a little slow out of the gate-I've been called a long winded writer by some...

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><p>Chapter One<p>

"I'm so sorry children," Roanhild whispered sadly. "We have nothing but dried fish and cram for dinner." The youngest two girls made weak cries of protest, laying their hands on their empty bellies. The rest were too weary or too polite to say anything. Only Morwena, the eldest, looked at her mother with sad sympathy.

"Don't complain," she scolded gently, ruffling the hair of her little sisters. "It will only make your mother feel bad and she's tried her hardest. There's simply not much money to be made as a laundress." The children murmured their apologies with bowed heads, then bent to gnawing hungrily at their food. Even with the bowls of hot water to soak it in, the food was so tough they could hardly bite into it.

The family lived in a hovel of mud and straw several days journey north of the port of Umbar. Like all others in the region, they worshiped Lord Sauron of Mordor, entreating Him to bring rain for their crops and grass for their herds, to make their lives slightly less miserable. To this end, every year, they made a blood sacrifice on an altar of packed mud in the center of the village. It was not a death sacrifice for they were too poor to spare a pair of hands to work or a beast whose carcass could be eaten. Instead, one of the villagers, usually a virgin girl, would have the palm of her hand cut open and mark the altar with her blood while singing a hymn of praise to the High God. Morwena had once done this duty and treasured the scars she carried from it as a mark of high honor.

All the people in the lands about worshiped Lord Sauron as well but, far away, at the ends of the earth, it was said, were people who defied His rightful sovereignty, terribly tall elves with shining eyes and the mortals who had been deluded into serving them. The Lord made war against them to force them to see the error of their ways and to this war had gone Morwena's father, proud to do his duty just as his daughter had been at her blood sacrifice, and, in the end, he had not returned, giving his life for his Lord and His cause. Though, in the meantime, he had brought back many stories of the strange and wonderful places he had seen, as well as trinkets as gifts for his eldest and favorite daughter. Morwena treasured them all, but what fascinated her the most were his descriptions of Mordor itself, seat of the Lord Sauron. Not that her father had ever seen Him but he had seen His tower, shining black, like glass covered with hooks and barbs and she felt a fierce longing to see if for herself.

But there was no chance of that for, after her father's death, things became even more difficult for the family. Long after the children had gone to bed, Morwena and Roanhild sat staring morosely into the fire as they twisted wool into coarse yarn. "This cannot go on," said Morwena at last, breaking the silence reluctantly.

"I know, I know," her mother replied bitterly. "But how can I support six children just by doing laundry?" There was an uncomfortable pause. "Did you do as I advised?"

"Oh, aye. I've lain with the head of our poverty stricken village and lain with him again. I doubt he will show us more favor than the half dead sheep he let us take from his field in the spring."

Roanhild rung her hands. "What shall we do?" she cried.

"It is simple, Mother. I must go to work. I've been thinking about this for a long time."

"But there is no work in this village."

"There is work elsewhere in Middle Earth. If I leave, you will have one less mouth to feed, even if I can't send any money back to you."

"But…"

"I shall go to Mordor, there is always work there."

"I hate to think of you toiling under the brutal conditions in the fields or in the mines."

"I must do what I must. Perhaps I shall not work in the fields or the mines. My father was killed in our Lord Sauron's wars. Perhaps, He will give us compensation."

"He will not. We are far too lowly to be worthy of the Great Lord Sauron's pity."

"Nevertheless, I will do what I may," said Morwena stoutly. Even as she spoke of practical matters, she felt a great desire to go and see the land from which all the known world was ruled, to behold the Dark Tower, and, if it might be, to look upon the face of the One who, since birth, she had been taught to worship like a God.

"But the journey alone is so dangerous, even if there were hope it would work."

"But I must try…"

"At least wait until next spring. Maybe something will have happened by then."

"As you wish," replied Morwena with averted eyes.

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><p>Black smoke spiraled upwards from the mountain of fire, hanging dark over the plains of Gorgorth. Far up the side of Barad Dur, huge and heavy iron spikes thrust upwards like wicked claws. The Lord of the Nazgul leaned against the shinny curved surface of one, gazing pensively across to Ororduine with his unseen eyes. Beside him crouched a small, pathetic looking creature, half bat, half lizard, scrabbling with its claws against the smooth metal. It let out a frightened croaking cry and huddled against his leg, its wings making a dry rasping sound as it shivered in the cold wind of the upper reaches.<p>

"Patience my pet," the lord of the Nazgul reached down to caress the mottled leathery skin of its head. "My Lord Sauron promises that, if you stay strong and healthy, some day you will ride this wind and be the greatest thing ever to fly the high airs. Yea, greater even than the cruel eagles who slew your kin." Comforted, the beast nestled against his leg and made a hoarse chirping noise. The Lord of the Nazgul reached into his belt pouch and pulled some fresh slabs of Uruk flesh, which he pressed into the creature's toothed beak. "And, my pet," he leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially. "when you grow large enough, you can _eat_ any woman who dares to strike you."

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><p>Morwena stirred restlessly in bed and pulled herself to wakefulness. Very carefully, to ensure that she did not wake the two of her sisters who shared her bed, she eased out from under the blanket and dropped her feet to the frozen floor. Cold shot through her like the stab of a blade, but she dared not flinch. The fire was sunk to glowing red embers and, in the dim light, she put on warm clothes and packed enough cram and dried fish to last a week.<p>

She dared not take more from her family and of money she could bring herself to take none at all. She did take a small bag of her personal possessions, small medallions, little animals, and other odd items of wood and metal that her father had either carved for her himself or brought back from his travels with the army. They were of little use to anyone beyond the sentimental value they held for her, so she need not feel bad about taking them. She also took her father's dagger, the only piece of his war gear that had been returned to the family.

Opening the door a crack, she saw that the sky was graying but dawn was still a couple of hours off. Good, it would give her time to get some distance away before the search began. It broke her heart to trick her mother like this but Roanhild had already held her back for a year and half and, during that time, both the family's situation and Morwena's personal restlessness had only grown worse and worse. She secretly suspected that her mother would never allow her to leave voluntarily. After all, she had ever resorted to having Morwena pawn her virginity in an attempt to keep her daughter with her.

All that day, Morwena trekked over the barren ground, with clumps of stiff, saw-edged grass the only growing things to be seen. She ate as she walked, nibbling gingerly at the hard cram, and sipping from her skin of brackish water that she had filled at the muddy stream by the village. The sun beat down, turning her hair into a hot and sticky net and the heavy cloak she had brought against the night chill seemed almost to burn in its roll on her shoulders. But the sun was also a gift because she could use it to take direction from in the featureless land and she headed steadily northeast the entire day.

When the sun set and she could no longer see her way, she cast herself down on the ground, a sharp, rough tumble of stones and dirt clods, and, pausing only long enough to wrap her cloak around herself, immediately sank into a exhausted sleep. She woke the next morning, stiff and sore from sleeping on the hard ground in the chill. But, after a brief prayer, forced her wooden limbs to move once more and soon the motion and the heat of the sun loosened them again, as she continued her journey.

In the weeks and months that followed, she made her way northwards any way she could, sometimes at no more than a crawl. At first she made good time for, though the endless trek was wearying, Morwena had worked hard all her life and knew how to draw strength from a deep well within her, a thing much easier to do now that the purpose of the journey drove her then it had been back home when all she had to inspire her was laundry, wood cutting, and preparing the few bland and watery morsels her family could afford. But, by the end of the seven days, her food was gone. Even stretching it painfully thin, there was no way she could make it last longer. And so she must find others to journey with, for they were the only source of food in these wilds. She should be far enough from her home village by now that it was safe for her to go back to the road. So, she turned her steps more sharply to the east, making towards the worn path like a pale scar that wound across the broken earth. She had always kept her self aware of where it lay, in preparation for this eventual need though, until now, she had carefully skirted it.

Fortunately, despite its primitive appearance, the road was a major highway between Mordor and Umbar and so did not lack for traffic. Any group of travelers journeying towards the river Anduine, she would beg to be allowed to join. She paid for her passage, and her food, with whatever they would take. She sold her labor for any task that was needed. She sold her body, if any would desire it. She sold the memorials in her pouch. One by one, the trinkets she had from her father went to purchase food and a place by the fire. The one thing she would not sell was her dagger that she kept hidden, wearing it beneath her skirt.

The only trouble was that, traveling in in the large caravan she eventually joined meant that she had to move at their speed and the long file of ox drawn wanes could move at only the most plodding of paces, to say nothing of the hordes of people, like herself, on foot who crowded round the wagons, making them slower still. There were times Morwena wanted to scream with frustration at the slowness of their progress, but forced herself to wait patiently and with, at least an exterior of, calm. After all, she had been waiting her whole life for this journey, a few more moons would hardly do her harm.

After maybe a fortnight, though she had lost all track of time, she saw a dark mass come into view on the horizon: the mountains of Mordor, their sharp edges standing out against the gray sky like a row of jagged teeth. Every day, the mountains drew nearer, becoming darker and more defined. Dark clouds, which sometimes glowed red beneath in the glare from the mountain of fire, floated out from beyond them. Morwena's heart sang to be so near her Lord, her God. When she said her prayers now, she could feel the increased power surge through her. She could feel His closeness, almost like a touch.

She began to seek for ways to leave the caravan in which she was traveling, knowing they did not intend to enter Mordor itself. Many of the travelers were too frightened, or filled with awe, as they preferred to call it, to even contemplate such a course. Besides, even if they had wished it, they would most likely never have been allowed past the gates. Entry to the Lord Sauron's royal seat was not granted to just any one, or so her father had told her. Only those merchants bearing gear of war or the finest of luxuries were even considered for admittance. These travelers carried only simple trade goods and so Morwena knew she must think of a plan swiftly, before the caravan turned away from the mountains.

Questioning an old woman by the fire one night, she learned their next destination would be the fortress of the Nazgul Lord, Sauron's high lutenent and second in command. Morwena felt her heart leap with excitement. The way was clear for her now. She would seek work at the fortress. In such a large place, there must be some small task, be it ever so humble, for her to do. If she could enter the service of her Lord's right hand in this way, she would almost draw level with her father. It was a most wondrous possibility.

In the end, her plan went off without a flaw. When a division of soldiers came out of the fortress to inspect the goods the caravan was carrying, Morwena managed to catch the eye of their leader. He was hairy, scared, filthy, with rotten teeth. But, at least, he was human. She had been terribly afraid they would have sent deformed orcs, half dead things, rotting and chained to the world of the living only by sorcery, or were-creatures more animal than man. With a human, at least, there was some hope of sympathy, at least some thread of common interests, common longings, be it ever so thin. Based on his gear, mended and rusty, his rank was probably not particularly high but, considering that he had been sent outside the walls to collect goods, it was mostly likely high enough to to get her _in_side.

She approached him deferentially while his men were busy riffling the bundles of goods, including ones not technically for sale, and he was "overseeing" them, doing his best to make himself look important. From her experience dealing with the leader back in her old village, she knew exactly how to flatter this type of personality and, when the company packed up the supplies they were taking and marched back into the wraith Lord's stronghold, Morwena went with them. In the dark, echoing passage of the under gate, he let his men go on ahead and took her against one of the dark stone walls. Morwena had been expecting this and bore it well. He actually seemed rather disappointed by her lack of protest or, at least, lack of evident distress and muttered sourly to himself for the rest of the way.

But Morwena had no care for that. She had the work she had come for. It was not fine work, sweeping and scrubbing, brewing huge vats of putrid slop for the hoards of orc workers, and changing the bedding in the stables where the wolves and horses were kept. But it was noble work, something to be proud of. She was aiding the cause, just as her father had done. Her raw skin, cuts, and bruises from the heavy drudgery were like battle wounds to her and that thought made her want to sing. She had a fine voice and loved to sing but the frowning stone around her seemed to demand silence. Therefore, she kept her lips still out of respect while, even so, in her heart, she sang.

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><p>Clarice frowned at the mirror, pushing her deep scarlet lips into a pout. She thought she could see the faintest traces of a line beside her mouth. Hastily, she moved to cake more powder over it, then recoiled at the foul odor. No matter how many times she had washed and scoured her hands over the past days, the sickening <em>smell <em>still clung to them, a powerful odor of raw meat both fresh and rotten, like a horrible combination of butcher shop and charnel house. It had been a mistake. Even without the smell she knew it had been a mistake. The little beast had just been so utterly unbearable.

Squinting into the mirror, she used a stick of charcoal to outline her eyebrows. Squinting was bad. It made wrinkles around her eyes. But how else was she supposed to get the lines perfect? There was no winning. She had to keep up a flawless beauty regime but the strain of doing so was taking a toll on her beauty. Was it any wonder that she was constantly filled with anxiety? And that sometimes led her to do truly foolish things. But actually striking the Lord of the Nazgul's prized pet went beyond all bounds of madness. Yes, the thing had had the gall to nip her ankles but she should have kept herself under control. She ought to have stated her displeasure firmly but calmly. The Nazgul Lord was powerful and, though she might behave that way in public, she was not untouchable. She could only hope he would not repeat the incident to her Lord Sauron.

Ah, Sauron. Even after three years, the though of Him could still make her shiver. Her position as His official mistress was one she treasured not only because of the luxury it afforded her but also, and, perhaps, primarily, because of the delights of being His lover, which were too wonderful and terrible for words. She knew that other women below her would must be scheming to replace her and, if she started making enemies, so would they. That was why she had to remain looking perfect at every moment. She must give Him no reason to prefer another over her.


	2. Chapter 2

Okay, we start actually getting into the plot here, and by plot I mean politics and underhanded schemes of course. I apologize in advance if updates are not as regular as might be liked. I'm in the process of house hunting right now which is rather more time consuming and stress inducing than one might like. I hope you enjoy installment #2 and, if you do, please let me know. My one review is feeling a little lonely at the moment (Of course I could just update more but where would be the fun in that).

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><p>Chapter Two<p>

The Lord of the Nazgul gazed out the window of his tower in the inner courtyard of his castle. He was very proud that it was his own castle though even he admitted it was not much to look at, rough hewn stone, barely mortared together, orc work mostly. But he had persuaded his master to grudgingly allow him to bring in a few of his fellow Numenorians to serve as engineers. They might make something of the place yet. He rather liked being in charge here and lord of his own tiny empire. He suspected the Lord Sauron liked it less well, but a newly discovered mountain pass into Mordor was too important to be left unguarded so he was able to enjoy himself, for the time being at least.

Normally, this inner courtyard was used for drilling his most elite troops. But, at this moment, it was empty, save for a single drudge, scrubbing the paving stones. The fierce mountain wind howled up the tower and snaked through the courtyards in a wailing spiral. The Lord of the Nazgul's withered flesh did not feel its cold bite, but it set the tatters of his black robe fluttering about in a truly irritating way.

It also blew off the hood of the drudge's cloak and sent her mass of long smoky hair streaming behind her. She turned her face up to brush her hair out of her eyes and, as she did so, she smiled. She was happy here in this fortress of death. Neither the darkness, nor the strange noises, nor the hard work seemed to oppress her. The Lord of the Nazgul had lost his fleshly desires when his body withered into wraith form but he remembered enough to be able to tell the girl was beautiful, exceptionally beautiful. And also that, with her dark hair and eyes, fresh plain skin, and natural smile, she was the exact opposite of Clarice, the blond, painted, and scowling.

Casually, he gestured to one of the other Nazgul to come and join him at the window. "Who is that girl?" he asked.

"Her, my Lord? Some nobody from the lands down by Umbar, I believe. Came here looking for work."

"Anything of interest about her?"

"None that I know of. Her father was killed in one of the battles with the elves, maybe five years back and she seems to have inherited his dedication to Our Lord."

"Has she? Has she indeed?" The Lord of the Nazgul's unseen lips twisted into a grin and he rubbed his bony hands together.

"Yes, she has, My Lord. Why do you ask?"

"Only because it is high time we paid another visit to the Master's tower…to report on our progress in the war, of course."

"Very good, My Lord." The other bowed and prepared to withdraw.

"And send the girl to me," the Lord of the Nazgul called after him.

Morwena could not believe her good fortune when the summons came. The Nazgul Lord was second only to Sauron in the power of Mordor and thus, deserving of her highest reverence. The thought never entered her mind that he might have called her to him out of displeasure. Even if it had, she would have taken solace in the fact that he thought her fault high enough to warrant his personal attention. Even murder, she knew, would not earn her an audience, only a summary execution by a low-ranking, boorish guard, probably after a bout of torture and rape on his own account. Frantically, she dragged her fingers through her wind knotted hair, attempting to make it lie flat, while she tried to smooth and straighten her ragged clothes. Then, she turned and knelt, facing east and spoke a brief prayer to the Dark Lord, that she would have His favor in this meeting.

She had seen the ring wraiths from afar during her time working in their fortress but never had direct interaction with them. When she was brought into the throne room, the Lord was seated on his carven chair and four other Nazgul stood behind him. Gazing on the black shadow under their hoods and feeling the unseen eyes probe her, Morwena was suddenly gripped with fear. Averting her eyes, she sank down on her knees with her head bowed.

"Ah, my illustrious lady." The hissing wraith voice grated on her ears and sent shivers up her spine. "We crave your indulgence for overlooking you for so long. In compensation, please accept this gift." Morwena did not move. "Come, there is no need to be afraid." Awkwardly, she rose from her knees and shuffled forward, still keeping her eyes cast down. One of the Nazgul came forward, bearing a great casket of dark metal and another lifted the lid. Silk poured out like a fall of dark green water and pooled on the floor. Despite her fear, Morwena gave a gasp of admiration. She had never seen something so beautiful. The Nazgul lifted it out and held it up so that she saw it was a dress, a royal gown with a full skirt and sleeves that rippled and shone. "This if for you," said the lord of the Nazgul as his subordinate came forward to offer it.

"But…but…why?" stammered Morwena, reluctant to do something so presumptuous as to touch it.

"Surely you cannot be surprised that we would want to honor you, after the fine service your father did for us."

"My father…You know of him?"

"Of course. He gave his life for the glory of Mordor. The daughter of such a great man should not dress in rags."

"Forgive me for asking, my Lord, but my mother and sisters are very poor. We never received any compensation for my father's service. Could you help us?"

"I have not the authority to do so, but there is another purpose for the dress. We leave within the week to make our report to Sauron the Great at Barad Dur. You shall come with us and make your request in person. But I would not have you go before him as you are now." For a moment Morwena was so stunned that she simply stared blankly at the dress. Then she dropped to her knees and made great profession of her gratitude. But the Lord only waved her away with out much energy, as if he were only listening with half an ear.

Back in her room, Morwena collapsed on her bed, her head spinning. Her room and her bed for not much longer, she reminded herself. Among other things, she would be given a different room reflecting her newly discovered status. How could this have happened? Her father had never told her he was anyone important or that such an illustrious person as the Lord of the Nazgul had ever heard of him. To wear fine clothes, have her own room, and be well fed would have been unbelievable and overwhelming enough but, with a cold thrill, Morwena remembered that all of that was beside the point.

The purpose of all her fine treatment was to make her properly presentable for the ultimate goal: being brought before Lord Sauron Himself. No matter how important her father might have been, he had, by his own words, not been important enough to even see the Lord from afar, much less have a formal audience. How than could his un-valiant daughter possibly warrant it? Perhaps, she mused, her father had deceived the family as to his importance, not wanting them to get about themselves, or to pine after what they could never have. And, if she had known he had actually _seen_ the Lord Sauron, pine Morwena certainly would have.

But now there was nothing to pine fore. Soon, she would see and know all. The prospect almost made her swoon again and she clutched the frame of the bed to steady herself. Whatever happened, she must conduct herself with honor. She must not shame her family or herself. She would train herself to stand steady on her feet before the Lord and to speak in a clear voice. She took a deep breath , exerting her greatest effort to minimize the fluttering of her breath. It would take all her will

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><p>The pile of papers rustled dryly on the dark wood of the table. A delicate white hand, so white the parchment looked yellow beside it, fished the top paper off the stack. "My most respected servant...Lord of Harad...a council of war...three moons hence...come with speed...it is vital that...or face my displeasure. A pen was quickly dipped and a flourished signature added. The paper was folded, sealed, and placed in another, slowly growing, pile. The next page quickly followed suit. The words here were exactly the same as those of the previous paper. They were all identical except,sometimes, for the names of the people they were addressed to.<p>

Sauron, Lord of Mordor, closed his eyes and pressed his hand to his head. Signing piles of documents was one of the more hated tasks he ever had to perform. Of course, he could always have a servant do it. After all, that _was_ their sole purpose for existing: to make his life more convenient. But he was not such a fool as to trust them with the ability to forge his signature, except, perhaps, the Nazgul. But they were usually from court these days, traveling far afield to secure the borders of his land and advance the cause of the war. At least that was what they reported they were doing, what they had been ordered to do. Personally, he had not seen much evidence of it. He kicked the table leg savagely, almost upsetting the ink pot. That was yet another irritation he would have to deal with...after addressing the irritation at hand. Indeed, one of his motivations for calling this great council of war was to shame the ring wraiths back into line.

While this line of thought had been developing, he had managed to plow through another twenty of the papers. Now, he caught sight of one addressed to chief Motishu of Near Harad. This particular lord had been discovered skimming gold from the tribute that passed through his hands. At the war council, his neighbors would be ordered to slaughter his tribe and dispose of him personally in such a way as to make an example to others. But _he_ certainly wasn't invited to the council. Angrily he cast the paper into the fire.

Several more documents came off the pile but it looked barely touched. If only he had sent the messages by magic. Then he would not have needed to worry about the problem of delivery either. But that had its own complications and inconveniences. This was unbearably irritating. He wanted to take a rest from it all. Go lie down with a glass of wine and a girl...or a good book, either would do. But there was was no time. These missives were to have been finished yesterday. But there had been yet _another_ disruption involving Clarice that had wasted far too much time.

He wondered briefly if it might be worthwhile trying to start a wager on how long Clarice could go without enraging someone else important. On second thought, that idea wasn't really amusing after all. In all honesty, Clarice was a walking disaster. In one of her most recent escapades, she had offended one of the Easterling leaders by having an audience with him while wearing a revealing dress even though she_ knew_ the women of his people wore veils. She had screamed at and threatened one of his high generals for not bringing her her luxury trade goods swiftly enough, even though this was not really the man's job. And then there had been the incident with the Lord of the Nazgul during his last visit. Sauron never had found out what exactly had happened there but, whatever it was, had been severe enough for the wraith lord to leave in a very great hurry, hardly taking the time to perform the expected farewell audience.

None of these problems was insurmountable. Even the most affronted of his allies was neither brave nor stupid enough to defy Saruon for the sake of their bruised dignity. Still, smoothing over these "crisies" required time and effort he simply did not have. It would probably be best if he kept Clarice locked up in her own rooms for a while. That might motivate her to behave more properly, or at least keep her out of the way of potential confrontation. Of course, he could always have her killed. But he wasn't ready for that. Not yet. She was still too delicious, both in her person and in the fun of torturing her, or watching her torture her self, with mind games.

But he certainly did not want to lie down with her now. The pile had less than a quarter left to go. Picking up a scrap piece of paper, Sauron scribbled a quick note on it and dropped it down a slot in the floor. From the slot, a shaft led down through the walls of the fortress to a chamber where a servant was waiting for just such a message to come falling down. This particular note ordered that he be sent, forthwith, some light repast and a girl, any girl as long as she was pretty and pleasant, but not, under any circumstances, not Clarice. It would take some time for his orders to be obeyed, so he poured himself a glass of wine and selected a book to read while waiting.

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><p>On the journey to Barad Dur, Morwena rode pillion behind the Lord of the Nazgul himself. Putting her arms around his waist to steady herself was more than a little disquieting. It wasn't that her arms met through the robe as it there was nothing inside but there wasn't a solid body she could feel either. The force that held her up was shapeless and undefinable. But this strangeness was not sufficient to distract her from the wonder of actually seeing Mordor with her own eyes.<p>

When they reached the head of the pass and she looked down on Gorgoroth at last, as she had often dreamed and never dared to truly hope she would do, where the mountain of fire let out great fumes and beneath this dark roof threw out a red light that made all the land look as if it had been bathed in blood. The black rocks, with razor keen edges, seemed almost to gleam wetly in the flickering light. The whole place was a desert. No growing thing could be seen, not even barren withered stems. From caves and fissures livid vapors oozed, the refuse of mine shafts and deep forges. Morwena shivered. It was hell, worse than any nightmare of hell she had visited in dreams. But she must not run. For hell was also the dwelling place of He who was greater than mortals and only by journeying on through the dark land could she reach Him.

The company paused but a moment in the high place and then they were galloping down the far slope, so that the speed of the decent brought Morwena's heart to her mouth and her hair streamed out behind her. The wind that struck her face was hot and dry, like the blast from an oven and made her tongue feel it had been turned to dust. She ached for water but the wraiths with whom she rode had no need of drink and she was too loyal, or too proud, to stay their errand so they might seek provisions for her.

But the wild career downwards did not last long. A deep ravine slashed across the path and, although a makeshift suspension bridge had been stretched across the chasm, they had to dismount and cross it slowly on foot. She could see work was being done on a permanent stone bridge to connect the newly discovered pass to the main road but it would not be finished for some time. Still, this pause in the journey allowed her to get her breath back and receive some small amount of food and drink from the workmen there. But, no sooner had her feet touched the ground on the far side but they were in the saddle and off at a gallop once again.

Morwena tried hard not to think about what was going to happen at the end of the journey, about what she would be expected to do. She had spoken boldly in the secret chamber of her own mind about wanting to behold the Lord of Barad Dur. But, as the dark writhing mass of clouds veiling His tower drew ever nearer, her fear crept over her more strongly with every passing mile and she found it impossible not to think about it.


	3. Chapter 3

Clarice was lounging in a warm bath of herbs and cream, specially formulated to keep her skin white and supple. Lazily, she felt beside her for the jar of scented powder she used to wash her hair, instead, making contact with a tray of small sweet cakes. Deciding her hair could wait, she picked up one of the cakes and ate it leisurely, enjoying the feel of the sticky icing against her lips. Here and there her skin tingled as one of the flowers floating on the surface of the water brushed against her.

Suddenly, she was startled as the door behind her was thrown open noisily. Starting involuntarily, she upset the tray of cakes, which fell to the ground with a crash, taking the jar of powder with it, so that the shiny grains spread across floor, hissing on the tiles.

"My Lord." Clarice was both frightened and delighted. "This is, indeed, an unexpected pleasure." She raised herself slightly so that more of her body was visible above the bath foam. "Would you care to…"

"No, Clarice." Sauron held up His hand. "I have not come to join you in your bath . If I had, I would have sent orders for you not to put so many flowers in it."

"You do not like them?" She tried to sound teasing but her displeasure was plain.

"They may be very well for you, whose only purpose is to be decorative, but it is not seemly for a great lord to be always smelling like a garden. But enough of that. You were right to call my visit an unexpected pleasure, for unexpected pleasures are exactly what I have come to speak of. My dear, we have guests. So, come, time for you to be up and about." He extended his hand with mock gallantry and drew her up out of the bath. Though, on the surface, He appeared to be assisting her, Clarice could feel the overwhelming strength in His hand and arm, and chills ran through her body.

For a moment, Sauron let His gaze linger over her from head to foot, watching the water shimmer and bead on her bare skin. "Such a pity we have no time for me to enjoy you properly," he murmured, His tone almost lilting, as He gave her the faintest of touches on her arm. "Such a pity." Clarice knew this was not true. He had had her in five minutes or less in the past, when He had been pressed for time, or it had simply taken His fancy to do so, and He could do so again if He cared to. But He was impressing on her His lack of urgency, the fact that, however badly He wanted her, He could afford to wait because He knew He could have her whenever He desired

"You said we had guests," said Clarice sweetly, masking her disappointment as best she could. "Who, might I ask, has decided to grace us with their presence?"

"Us, my sweet?" He asked condescendingly, chucking Clarice under the chin as He did so. "Is that not rather presumptuous of you? You know very well that those who seek an audience with me are unlikely to have much interest in you. Nevertheless, you have leave to attend on me for I know it pleases you to preside in court."

"Indeed it does," she replied, "and I give my Lord the greatest thanks for being so caring for my diversions. But tell me, I entreat, over whom will I be presiding?"

"The Lord of the Nazgul is coming to pay a visit. Doubtless to report on the progress of the war, and high time too. All I can say is that he had best have something good to report. It has been a long time since he had anything to say of it and I grow tired of waiting."

Normally, Clarice would be struggling to stifle a yawn at this point. The war was one of the most unbearably boring topics she had ever heard of. But, this time, she stayed alert, greedily devouring the knowledge that her enemy seemed to be in some sort of trouble. Though she was much less pleased that she was going to have to entertain him, especially so soon again after... She swallowed hard. She could only hope her Lord had not heard about her rash action and that the confounded ring wraith would not elect to tell Him. She also hoped that he had left that disgusting _creature_ behind, so there would be no risk of a repeat incident.

"Now, I know you are none to fond of him," said her Lord firmly, almost as if He had read her mind, which Clarice always found horribly disconcerting. "But I expect you to conduct yourself properly and offer no offense against him."

"I would never dream of it," she replied, "for, if such an offense offended You, it would be the most grievous of sins." She took His hand and began to kiss it in a way that was more than reverential.

Sauron took His hand away. "Not now, my love. You may show your devotion by reading yourself for the audience. Quickly now." He gave her a playful slap, then strode rapidly out of the room. Clarice clenched her hands, her whole body on fire with frustration and longing at His perfunctory treatment but her mind was racing as well. She did not know why the Lord of the Nazgul was back but she did know she did not want him here. She would not defy him openly. Her Lord had forbidden it and it was unwise in the first place, as it would show her in such a poor light. But, if she could find a way to thwart him covertly, she would do so, in the hopes of vexing him so that he would leave the sooner. And take his hideous, smelly_ thing _with him.

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><p>And so, the moment had arrived. Morwena stood before the doors of the Lord Sauron's throne room, deep within the heart of Barad Dur. The black doors stretched at least twice the height of an ordinary man, making her feel very small and vulnerable, very glad indeed that the large cloaked shape of the Lord of the Nazgul stood between her and whatever lay beyond. But he had placed her directly behind him and his ragged robe seemed a frail shield in such a case. Now, a great rending crash rocked the floor of the passage, sending Morwena's heart into her mouth. Strong orcs bent their backs, straining against harnesses of chain to draw the heavy doors open. As a crack formed down the center a shaft of light, red as blood, came pouring out, striking her in the face with an intensity like burning heat. The shape of the wraith in front of her lurched, black against the glare, as he began to walk forward. There was nothing more to think of, no more time to fear, and yet, fear was clawing at her throat with barbed talons. She must not shame herself or the sacred service she had done when she spilled her maiden blood on the sacrificial altar. Now she must prove her worthiness to worship her God.<p>

Morwena walked forward, head bowed, the skirts of her gown rustling against the stones of the floor. She kept her eyes cast down, fixed firmly on the stones beneath her feet, and so she did not see the soaring vaults of the ceiling nor the massive arches of the windows, letting in floods of bloody light from the fire mountain neigh at hand. As she paced over the polished and gleaming floor, she saw great pillars loom up on either side which, from time to time, she mustered the courage to glance at. They were covered with intricate carvings which she did not have the leisure to examine properly. But she would have guess they were scenes from the history of the Lord Sauron. Most of them depicted great battles, but she also observed an image of a wolf and dog fighting, as well as ones she recognized as the raising of the Barad Dur and the forging of the great Ring.

But, though she allowed herself these occasional sidelong glances, forward she would not look towards the dais at the end of the hall and what waited upon it. She had spoken her prayers almost every day of her life and she had always believed Sauron was listening and would make her an answer to her request. Indeed, He must have, for she was here now. But it was very different, knowing He was physically present and, beyond a doubt, would hear her and give an answer her yea or nay. She tried to compose her mind and speak as if she were making a prayer.

"Oh, great and mighty Lord," she began, horrified at how faint and hollow her voice sounded in the vast chamber. "I beg Your extreme favor in deigning to give ear to my most unworthy request." She stared at the floor in silence, able to go no further as yet.

"Speak." The voice was not particularly deep. It did not rumble or roar or howl. It was perfectly measured, almost quiet, and yet it made all the air throb and hum with power. It was the voice of one who had no need to assert themselves over you. In time, it was inevitable that you should be crushed, like the slow seeping of blood from a mortal wound or the eons long destruction of rocks as they were ground to a powder by ice or gashed with deep furrows by the force of flowing water. "Speak," it said. "I have had no diversion yet this day." Morwena opened her mouth but her throat closed. The sheer raw power in the voice left her feeling utterly helpless, even to make a sound. "Now, there is no need to be shy. Your request is unlikely to anger me more than you will by wasting my time like this."

Morwena summoned all her strength to push the words out, trying to make them louder and steadier, less timid sounding. "My Lord, I am the daughter of Uldorian, who served You most faithfully for the first twelve years of my life and, if he is to be believed, for many years before that. But, in that year, he fell in battle with the elves, leaving my family to fend for itself. We are in a bad way, My Lord and I beg for You to take mercy on us and give us aid."

"Uldorian? I know not the name. Nothing more than a common soldier wasn't he?" Morwena stared at her feet and said nothing, her cheeks flushing bright red in shame. "Wasn't he?" Now she could detect the faintest quiver of anger, like an almost lazy flick of a whip.

"Yes, my Lord, he was, or so he told me," she muttered, her embarrassment making her almost sullen.

"Surely you cannot expect me to dispense gifts to the kin of every man slain in battle?"

"No, my Lord," she muttered, even more quietly.

But, as she did so, she felt the hard hand of the Nazgul Lord dig into her shoulder. "Look the Master in the face when you speak to him," he hissed. Morwena gulped and nodded, then steeled her nerves and threw up her head.

His skin was the color of polished bone and His hands and features so fine and shapely that they looked almost as if they had been carved from bone as well. His hair was a black so deep it looked almost velvety, but with a sheen on it in places that reflected rainbows of light. It was bound back across His brows by a single hoop of gold and beneath this, it fell straight down in a shinning sweep across His shoulders. His form was slight and slender, almost feminine in its poise and grace but, like His quiet voice, exuded a raw power that was overwhelming. He was beautiful, too beautiful to be contained within mortal flesh, too beautiful, almost, for mortal eyes to look on and not be dazzled. So swept away was she that at first she barely registered the words that were spoken.

"You." Sauron pointed a stern finger at the Nazgul Lord. "How dare you waste my time bringing me this daughter of elven bow fodder. You are a fool."

The Lord of the Nazgul shrank back. "As my Lord says," he murmured, hanging his head in shame.

"My commander, you have displeased me and so I will no longer tolerate you sitting about in your toy castle, playing at being a lord. I have commanded you to track down and destroy the hidden stronghold of Imladris. It is high time you set about this task in earnest. See that you bring me some worthy information soon or the penalty of my displeasure will be even greater than it is now."

"It is more than I deserve, Great Master."

Morwena felt a heavy surge of guilt well up inside of her. This man…wraith…whatever he was, had thought well of her and tried to help her and now he would pay for it. Her feelings of sorrow and regret gave her a courage she had not had before. "Please do not blame him," she cried, shocked by the volume and intensity of her own voice. "It was really all my fault. You see…" In all honesty, she had no idea what she was going to say but, fortunately, she never had to figure that out.

"You dare to advise me in this matter?"

"I wish only to…" Again, Morwena was cut short, this time by peals of haughty laughter. Looking up, she saw woman with a mass of bleached and curled blond hair, in a shinning gown that left little to the imagination lounging back on a low stool beside the throne.

"How truly pathetic," she mocked. "The little fool is actually trying take the blame on herself to spare one who would abandon her in a heartbeat to save himself. Clearly, she must have very little understanding of what it means to suffer Your displeasure. Isn't that so, my Lord?" She cocked her head sideways and gave a conspiratorial smile.

Sauron did not even look at her but kept His gaze turned stonily forward. His eyes pressed upon Morwena, making her feel naked, pinned down, and helpless. It took all her will not to throw herself to the ground and dissolve into tears. As time went on and the impassive judgment of His glance did not slacken, she almost wished she could die to end the horrible scrutiny.

"You are very brave," He said at last. "Do you hate me for causing your father's death?"

Morwena forced herself to look up into the dazzling beauty, as the Lord of the Nazgul had instructed her. "No, my Lord," she said clearly.

"And why not?"

She could not stand it any longer and let her eyes fall. "Because I believe in Your cause, as he did."

"And would you serve me as he did?"

"I am no warrior, My Lord."

"But, what I command you would do your utmost to perform?"

"I swear it."

"Very good. You." He turned his gaze back to the Nazgul Lord and Morwena felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her back or like she had passed from hot a stifling chamber into the open air where a cool breeze washed over her. "Lodge her in your chambers until you set out on your mission. I should have found some use for her by then. Maybe we can send her as a spy to infiltrate the Numenorian strongholds or give her as a gift to reward one of my high commanders. We shall discuss it in due time. Meanwhile, you may leave me. But attend me again in my private rooms after the fourth hour." The Nazgul Lord, along with Morwena and all his retinue, backed out of the Presence with repeated bows and expressions of thanks.

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><p>As soon as they were alone in the passageway behind the throne, Sauron seized Clarice by the hair and jerked her head back. "You presumptuous fool, how dare you laugh while I am holding court?"<p>

Had Clarice been wiser or less filled with fear she would have known to hold her tongue or, at most, stammer an apology. Instead, her panic drove her to choose offense as her best defense. It was so unfair. She had had no idea she had transgressed. He had said to offer no offense to the Lord of the Nazgul and she had not, only laughed at the pathetic peasant, who her Lord had seemed to hold in contempt Himself. How could she have known that would offend Him? "My Lord," she said, as innocently as she could manage. "You Yourself have often laughed at your victims."

"But, if I chose not to do so, you have no right to go against my choice. I have not permitted you to sit at my side simply to make a shameful spectacle of yourself." He cruelly twisted her hair even more tightly, then released it so that she staggered back against the wall.

Clarice slumped there, clutching her bruised shoulder, her chest heaving, so terrified she could hardly think. Having Him angry at her was the most dangerous thing that could happen, far worse than earning the enmity of the Nazgul Lord. Her heart raced. "I did not mean any offense," she cried in terror, reaching out her hands pleadingly. "You seemed displeased. I thought some mirth might lighten Your mood. I sought only to please You."

Sauron wrenched her clutching hands from his garments and shoved them away from him. "You disgust me," he said coldly. "I know very well what you were doing and me desires were not the first of your concerns. You are desperate to hold on to me for the privilege and luxury I have bestowed on you. You thought by sharing a private jest in the sight of all, you could make your place more secure."

Clarice felt sick. What chance did she possibly have when He seemed able to read her every thought and motive? All she could think to do was to babble weakly that she had no idea what He was speaking of.

"Very well, my darling. You say you do not understand? Then come with me and soon you shall." Seizing her roughly by the hand, he led her swiftly down the passage. Deep, deep he dragged her, into the very entrails of Barad Dur. He spoke no word but drew her inexorably onward. Once Clarice shrieked in terror but He turned such a withering gaze on her that she dared not make another sound. Even when she stumbled over a pile of ancient bones on the floor, she bit back back her fear, forcing it down inside, though tears started in her eyes from the strain.

Finally, they reached an arch in the rocks of the wall, it's supporting pillars carved in the images of skeletal maidens with wings and long flowing hair. Beyond was darkness and from the darkness seeped the faint smell of ancient death. Clarice would have done almost anything to avoid passing under that arch but the one thing she would not do was risk provoking more of her Lord's anger. So, she followed meekly, though sick inside and trembling in every limb, as He led her through, calling up a ghastly sorcerous light as He did so.

They were in a long low chamber that stretched away into darkness where jagged stones rose out of the floor, like hungry fangs. Terror gripped Clarice and she might have been unable to walk further had not her Lover had her by the hand, drawing her irresistibly forward. He led her slowly down an aisle between the rows of stones and she tried her best to keep her eyes focused on her own two feet.

When He saw she would not look, Sauron halted directly in front of one of the stones and pointed it out to her. Her eyes squeezed half closed in fear, Clarice was just able to make out the name Halera beneath the carving of a rose. Some way on, he showed her another, which read, "Erendis: the sweetest and most tender." Like cold water down the back, she realized these were graves. She was standing surrounded by hundreds of graves.

"Now you see," said Sauron, watching her expression. "You are not the first woman to sit at my side. All who have held your place lie here and, some day, so will you. My mistresses are mortal as I am not and, in the end, all die from the weariness of the world…if I do not become angry and slay them first." Again, they halted in their walk but, this time, before them was no stone but a deep square pit cut into the floor. She made a quick glance in its direction but swiftly averted her eyes. "Yes, Clarice," Sauron murmured, his tone almost caressing now. "It waits for you. But you need not lie there, not yet. You are still very beautiful. Clarice, come here and let me have you."

"In this place?" she cried in shock. As much as her body normally craved Him, she could not think of a place less likely to stir desire than this dusty charnel house.

"Now is not the time to be coy," he admonished her. "You know very well that I have not been faithful to your bed of late. I am giving you the chance to prove you are still better than all the others. You said you wanted to please me, so come please me now, I command it, on the side of your grave." Sick with horror, so that she was almost retching, Clarice stepped closer and began to unlace the bodice of her gown with trembling hands.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry this one's a little short. I had to cut it where I did for the sake of plot/dramatic tension. I like to keep my chapter uniform but sometimes it just don't work that way. This is just one scene and one that's pretty self explanatory so, without further ado...

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><p>Chapter 4<p>

The Lord of the Nazgul clenched his hands in frustration. Since the initial audience, Morwena had stayed shut up in his rooms as there was no possible reason for her to go out. That would not do at all. He was more desperate than ever to go through with his plan after the horrible spectacle Clarice had made during the audience. But Morwena needed to be seen and admired for his plan to work.

And, in only a few days, a group of chieftains from Harad would be arriving for a great banquet and a council of war. With his luck, Sauron would give her away to one of them and then she would be gone, out of his reach forever, and all his hopes of using her to influence people and unseat Clarice would be ruined. Immediate action was called for.

Rounding suddenly on the Nazgul, who had stood patiently behind him while he paced the floor in agitation, he commanded hoarsely to fetch Morwena. As soon as his servant was gone, he seated himself at his desk and took up his pen, made from a length of curved bone. "My most exulted Lord and Master," he wrote, "I have been thinking upon your words and I am in total agreement that I have taken far too long about fulfilling your orders to crush the elves. Therefore, I most humbly entreat your permission to depart from court as soon as possible, even before the banquet for the ambassadors of Harad if may be, so that I may the sooner put my troops in readiness to do your bidding." He rather doubted Sauron would give him permission to miss the banquet and was actually hoping he would not. The contents of the letter were not important, only the delivery.

Morwena came hastening into the room and made a deep curtsy in front of him. "What is it you wish, my Lord?" she asked.

"Take this letter to my Lord Sauron."

Her eyes went wide. "I, my Lord? But why? Have you no more illustrious servants to send?"

"Do not question me," he thundered. "My other servants have better uses than running about the innards of Barad Dur with messages. You were commanded to make yourself useful, so do as I bid. My Lord's rooms are at the top of the high tower, if you lose your way, a servant can show you. But do not trust the letter to any other. You must report to me that you have seen it in his hand."

"Aye, my Lord." Morwena curtsied again and backed out of the room, clutching the letter to her heart with trembling hands. Delivering a message to the Lord Sauron in His private rooms was much more frightening than having a formal audience with Him. She would have to stand much closer to Him and His unbelievable, heart-stopping, beauty and, since there would be fewer people about, His attention would be focused much more completely on her. Would He continue to favor her, as he had seemed to at the end of their audience? Or would He have changed His mind and be angry at Her again? Or, perhaps, He had forgotten her completely.

As she hurried through the large, echoing corridors of Barad Dur, Morwena tried to determine which outcome she feared most. To face His anger and be subject to whatever torments He saw fit to inflict upon her in reprisal was a truly horrifying thought. But, at the least, then, she would be in His thoughts and He would think her worth going to the effort to torture. If she had been forgotten, she was nothing, too low to merit even pain.

It took her several hours of walking to reach the place and she became lost several times because she was too shy to ask for directions. Even with out advertising the fact, she felt that everyone was staring at her, that their eyes could somehow magically read her destination, especially as she climbed higher and higher. She imagined they were whispering behind her back, spreading rumors about her, wagering on how she would "do" at her confrontation.

Finally, after climbing a winding stair many thousand steps long that coiled within the very turret of Barad Dur, she reached a door of heavy wood, its bosses in the shape of terrible heads: beasts with wild eyes and slavering, fang filled mouths. Some seemed most like wolves, while others were reptilian, dragons or great serpents, and some had flat faces and flapping ears like huge bats. But, most horrifying of all were those that looked almost human but terribly deformed and distorted.

For the moment, she could steel herself to go no further, for she knew this must be the doorway of Sauron's chambers. First would come the condescending mocking of whatever servant was sent to escort her…and then the dreadful presence Itself. Yes, she had spoke boldly before her mother of her desire to look upon Sauron and, indeed, she still craved His presence. Part of her was filled with joy that she had been given this task. But, at the same time, he was so beautiful, so powerful, and so terrible, so much more so then even her wildest imagination had envisioned, that it was almost more than she could stand.

Her clenched hand trembled as she extended it, then rapped on the door, very quickly, before she could change her mind. For a moment, there was silence. Morwena wondered in a panic if no one was in. Should she simply wait, and for how long? Or should she go away and return later? And where would she ever find the courage to do either? Then she heard measured steps on the other side of the door. The latch lifted and the door swung open.

With a cry of distress, Morwena flung herself onto her face on the floor. "Forgive me, my Lord," she whispered.

Sauron looked down at the huddled form cowering before him. He thought there was something about her that seemed vaguely familiar but he could not place it. "Get up," he said in his stern, quiet, voice.

Morwena staggered to her feet, though she still kept her eyes cast down. They were so close, certainly within arms reach of each other. She could actually see the slight rise and fall of His chest as He breathed. He did not tower over her, as she might have imagined. His chin was about level with the top of her forehead. But, all the same, she felt tiny and insignificant before Him. "Forgive me," she breathed again. "I never would have imagined that…" she faltered.

"That I would not have servants to answer the door?" he finished for her, with a rich sound, almost like a laugh. "Why should I bother? They would simply have to report to me anyway. And there would be very little for them to do, since none dare to come here without very good reason." Sauron remembered her now, the girl who had arrived with the Lord of the Nazgul, the one who had been so polite and well behaved yet so brave. He saw now too what, between the distance and the focus of his mind on other matters, he had missed in the throne room: that she was lovely in a simple, clean way. Her long dark hair hung down soft and shining, untouched by oils or powders and her skin was delicately pale, except where it pinked naturally upon her freshly scrubbed cheeks. "And what was _your_ reason for coming here?" he finished, almost gently.

"Oh, I…I have a message for you." She fumbled, extending the letter in a shaking hand.

But Sauron did not take the letter. "Come inside," He ordered. "I do not feel like discussing my personal business in the hallway." Morwena slipped inside, having to pass even closer to Him as she did so. He swung the door shut behind her and she heard the latch click. "Here," He gestured for her to take a seat at a table in the middle of the room. She did so most awkwardly, feeling it was terribly improper to sit in His presence. "Allow me to offer you some refreshment," He uncovered a dish of lightly browned pastries, "while I read the letter and compose a response." Taking a seat opposite her, He filled two goblets with deep, mulberry red wine and slid one across the table to her. The food smelled wonderful and Morwena did not want to be disrespectful by refusing but, all the same, it was hard to force herself to eat in His presence, her stomach had twisted itself so tight from tension.

Sauron watched the girl out of the corner of his eye as he slit open the letter and unfolded it. She was gnawing hungrily on one of the pastries, even her manners natural and innocent, and still trying to appear properly submissive but he could see her glance flick in his direction time and again and he could see the wonder and yearning in those sweet gray eyes. "You wish to ask me a question," he said.

"Oh, no, my Lord. I would never presume…"

"Do not lie. I can see that you wish it. So ask, I command it."

"I could not help wondering, Lord, why you are so easy, so informal with me."

He chuckled. "I see no reason to make the effort not to be. I do not feel threatened by anyone who comes here. You I could kill with a thought, if I wished, without even moving from where I sit. I ask, should I fear you?"

"No, my Lord." She went very white

"Just so. Since I need not fear you, I need not trouble to put fear on you, if I do not wish to."

She nodded humbly. After a moment, she said, "Thank you for the food." Sauron nodded absently for he was now reading the letter. The fool, the fool. How dare he make such an insolent request? As if Sauron himself could not decide the most effective use of his own troops. He would hear of this latter. But no need to trouble the girl with all that. Casually, he took the letter and ripped it to bits.

Morwena stared in horror. Somehow He had become angered and now she would pay and, perhaps, so would the Nazgul Lord who had shown such concern for her.

"You have not earned my wrath," said Sauron, as if He could read her thoughts. "But, now, go tell your master that my answer is no," he finished coldly. Morwena nodded, bowing many times as she backed out of the room.


	5. Chapter 5

So, a bit slow as always. Midterms were last week and I was completely snowed under piles of essays to grade. I've finally got a few days of breathing room here so, update time. I know this chapter's a bit short but it does advance the plot rather significantly. Hope you all enjoy.

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><p>"I'm so sorry, my Lord," said Morwena with genuine regret. She was again seated across from a powerful lord, nibbling at courtesy food, but this time it was the Lord of the Nazgul who had called her in almost the second she returned to hear the results of her audience.<p>

"I know he refused," he said almost impatiently. "But what _else_ did he say."

"That was all. Forgive me, but He tore up your letter and did not even trouble to write a reply."

The Lord of the Nazgul pulled his spectral face into a scowl. This was a mark of high disfavor indeed. For a moment, he worried that he had wagered more than he was ready to pay. "How angry was he?" he asked, an edge of fear creeping into his voice.

"I'm not sure. You see, He wasn't angry at me, so, I think, He was trying to keep it in check."

"Not angry at you? How can you be sure?"

"He specifically told me so."

"What else did he tell you?" Morwena did not understand why but, suddenly, she felt very embarrassed. Her interactions with Sauron seemed so personal, intimate even, that she felt reluctant to share them, as if doing so might destroy the magic she had felt. Also, she was not sure He would approve of her sharing with others the way He had let down His guard with her. But the ring wraith gave her a hard look, which she could feel, even if she could not see it. She felt the pressure and yielded to it.

"He told me He did not fear me so there was no need to frighten me. He offered me a seat and gave me food and He said…"

"Wait, he offered you food?"

"Yes, He did," Morwena answered hesitantly, trying desperately to guess the significance of this.

Secretly, the Lord of the Nazgul was delighted. This was a good sign, a very good sign indeed. It was very rare that the Lord Sauron offered servants food, or even allowed them inside his rooms, if they had a written message to show. The ring wraith fumed to himself. Perhaps, he had gambled too high. If the contents of the letter had not angered him so much, his Lord might have taken the girl then and there. He certainly thought well of her. Of course, having him bed down with her once was a long way from ousting Clarice from her position. After all, he had done it with enough other women over the past few years. But it was still a necessary first step.

"Would you do something to aid me?" he asked, making his hissing voice sound as sincere as he could manage.

"You've been so good to me. You have only to ask."

"Can you sing or dance?"

"The first one, yes. The second, not so well. Why, my Lord?"

"In a few days, there will be a great feast for all the war lords of the army. During this feast, I will call on you to sing a song. Can you do this?"

Morwena's face went white. "In front of all those great people?" she stammered. "I..I…I'll try my best."

"And make the song the most beautiful, the most moving, that you know." She nodded, biting her lip. He know she wanted to ask why again. "The Lord Sauron plainly thinks well of you. If you please him, he may grant your plea for mercy on me."

The Nazgul Lord concealed his irritation at the inconvenience of having to continue to invent these stories. It would be so much simpler to just tell the girl his real plan for her. Very likely, she desired it herself already, whether she was aware of it or not. The Lord Sauron was like that with women. It was always only a matter of time before they surrendered themselves, body and soul, to him.

The Lord of the Nazgul sneered, remembering a proud elf princess they had captured many years ago. The army had slaughtered all her kin and wasted her entire kingdom and she was filled with hatred and venom for Sauron and all who served him. When he made as if to despoil her, she shrieked that she would take her own life and, though he could easily have prevented this, Sauron let her alone, left her to wander his chambers unopposed and, seemingly, forgotten. But, all the while, he was playing a deliciously amusing game. He "let" her catch him at his weapons practice and at his bath. He took other women in her hearing, and in her sight, if that could be contrived. As her will weakened, she fought against it with all her strength. Her guilt and self loathing dealt her more torment than anything else that could have been devised. When he knew she would not resist his advances, Sauron took note of her again, but made none. He treated her coldly and formally, almost like an ambassador. At last, she broke and solicited him and he told her no. He would not touch her until she went against every fiber of her being and begged him upon her knees.

Compared to that challenge, devout Morwena, who had grown up worshiping Sauron as a God, would be less than nothing. But he could not tell her. She might become so overwhelmed with terror or delight that she would become absolutely petrified, which could well prove disastrous. Otherwise, she could start actively trying to bring it about, which would be worse. Morwena's whole appeal lay in her innocence, her openness and genuineness. Take away that, and she would be no different than the other woman. But still, keeping the girl in the dark was a bother and could be dangerous as well.

The Nazgul lord was right to worry about Morwena's ignorance. Not long before, he had presented her with a "lady's maid" as befitted her (imaginary) status, carefully choosing one who would in no way detract from Morwena's qualities. Thus, the maid had orc blood in her, a product of some rape in a ruined village. She had warts, greasy hair, and blotched skin, but, most of all, she had the keen eye for hurt of her father's people. Now, she came into her mistresses chamber and found her sitting before a mirror, brushing her hair and signing, singing, always singing.

"My Lady has a beautiful voice," the maid said as softly as she could in her harsh voice.

"Do you really think so?" asked Morwena in innocent delight.

"Why should you doubt it?" At this point, the maid was not particularly aware of anything special afoot. She was simply trying to flatter and maybe win a favor by doing so. But Morwena, eager for someone to share her joy and fear with, threw the door wide open.

"I never did before," she said, leaning in conspiratorially, "but now it must be as beautiful as I can make it and I am so very nervous."

Here, the maid began to prick up her ears. "Nervous about what?" she prompted.

"I have been asked to sing at the high table during the feast for the warlords."

If he had known, the Lord of the Nazgul would slapped first her, and then himself, in the head. No sense of caution at all. Although she knew there was evil in the world, she could see no reason not to trust one with whom she had shared her very chamber. Had she not been good to the girl and given her no reason to wish ill? But Morwena did not stop to think that kindness did not always breed loyalty and honest service was not the swiftest road to profit. Despite her hard life, dishonesty was a concept that she did not fully comprehend. Even when she had whored herself for a living, she had done so with sincerity and honor.

So, she did not take any notice when her maid slipped out shortly after their conversation. But, within the hour, the girl was standing before Clarice, her fingers with their dark and ragged nails rubbing greedily over the pile of coins she had been given in return for her knowledge. She left with a promise to return again soon, in exchange for more gold.

Once she had gone, Clarice sat, staring blankly at the wall, clutching her hands until they bled. It was plain enough to her: the Lord of the Nazgul hated her and was throwing that pathetic country bumpkin in her Lord's way, in the hopes that He would take a fancy to her. How else could you explain that ridiculous performance the day he arrived? And now, apparently, he was plotting another. She could not imagine anyone actually having an interest in the girl, with her naked face, undressed hair, and out of date clothes. But, the fact that she was put forward by her greatest rival was enough to make Clarice nervous.

Slowly, she rose from her chair and paced through her chambers to her boudoir. There, she unlocked a casket meant to hold the jewels the Lord Sauron had given her over the years. As she threw back the lid, gold glittered and rubies flashed like fire, but she quickly set them aside. Growing ever more frantic, she thrust her hands deep into the casket, feeling about beneath emeralds like translucent leaves and sapphires like the night sky, digging through mounds of pearls like solidified sea foam. At last, she reached the bottom and her hands closed on it: a tiny cylinder, cold and hard. Quickly, she drew it out and held it close to her. It was a crystal vial and in it were a few drops of liquid, clear so that it looked almost empty.

The woman Clarice had replaced had been aging. She had been content with her lot and stepped down gracefully. But, before she departed, she had met with Clarice and pressed the vial into her hand. "One day, you too will see another come to take your place and, if your supplanting is less gentle than mine, you may be glad of this potion then for but one drop will give you a painless release." And she was glad of it, but not in the way the woman had imagined. With a grim half smile, Clarice slipped the vial into the bodice of her gown. When the maid servant returned she would be ready for her.


	6. Chapter 6

Another short update, again for reasons of dramataic tension. Morwena get's a little more decisive here and Clarice more sympathetic (possibly). Hope you all enjoy.

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><p>"My Lord is indisposed," the Nazgul said, almost condescendingly, with a formal bow.<p>

"I am very sorry to hear that but I mean to see him," Morwena answered stoutly, her instinctive deference superseded by concern for her safety. The past week and a half had been a dangerous time. First, there had been the horrible accident with her food. She had kindly given the lump of cheese from her meal to a slave with looked hungry. Now that she had all she needed supplied to her, she remembered when she had been in want and tried to give to those who did not. The slave had taken two bites, gotten a strange, dreamy, look on her face, and fallen over dead. There could be no plainer evidence of poison.

A few days later, her maidservant had led her up a little used stairwell to a landing where she could get a good view of Ororduin erupting at sunset. But, the stair had given way beneath them and they had only just managed to escape. And now a poisonous snake had somehow gotten into her bedroom.

"He ordered that none be admitted." The Nazgul before the doors sounded doubtful.

"Then I shall wait until he comes out," replied Morwena, not defiantly, but with quiet determination, just as she had when she needed to persuade her siblings not to do something dangerous.

"Wait then," said the Nazgul dismissively. Obviously, he expected her to give up quickly. When ten minutes had passed and she showed no sign of leaving, _he_ was the one who gave up.

"There has been another attempt on my life," Morwena declared as soon as she had made the formal obesense before the Nazgul lord.

"To be expected."

"But it's worse now. This one was inside my chamber. I want to know who's behind this."

"Clarice, doubtless."

"But I have done nothing to her."

"No, it is me she hates and, since she can not strike at me directly, killing one who I have shown favor to would be the simplest way to vex me."

"I can not imagine Clarice putting poison in my food…or snakes in my room. It seems rather, hmm…beneath her."

"Probably Clarice is not personally doing those things. But you can bet the ultimate motivation comes from her. Still, you are correct that this is becoming more serious. I shall have one of the Nazgul serve as your personal body guard."

After that, the attempts on Morwena's life ceased, at least for the time being. But, while she was grateful for the protection, it was most unsettling to have the dark, silent, shape of the ring wraith always looming over her, almost within arms' reach. It even stood in the corner of her room while she slept, its face riveted on her, unmoving through the entire night. Morwena was postponing taking a bath for as long as possible for she had a rather nasty suspicion it would follow her there too.

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><p>Clarice finally received what she had been waiting so long for: a summons to Lord Sauron's bed. It did not come nearly as frequently as she would have liked, or nearly as frequently as it used to. She knew, on most nights, there were other women in His bed, rarely the same one more than once, thankfully, and, more thankfully still, the Nazgul's whore had not yet been one of them. If only she had managed to eliminate her, she could be at ease now and enjoy tonight. Or as at ease as she ever was. As much as she enjoyed the attentions of her lover, it was always a time fraught with worry. Every couching was a performance on her part, an attempt to prove herself worthy of her position for a few more days or hours.<p>

She knew she had to keep Him impressed, show that she was still worthy of her position. And now it was so much worse, knowing she had a genuine rival. Why, why, _why_ was the cursed girl not dead yet? Clarice fumed at this unfairness even as she brushed and styled her hair, put the black charcoal on her brows and the red paste on her lips. This would never do. Her Lord might read the fear of her rival in her mind and she knew Him well enough to guess at what He might do with that information.

She would have to banish it from her mind quickly, to say nothing of her plan to get rid of the little fool. If she _had_ pricked His fancy, as unlikely as that seemed, He wouldn't care for _that_ idea at all. Even thinking about what might happen in such a situation, made Clarice shiver. Her hand trembled as well, her lip paint making a bloody smear from her mouth down over her chin. Now, she would have to start her preparations all over again.

"You are very late," said Sauron shortly, when she finally entered His chamber, after changing her dress and re-doing her face and hair at least three times. "I expected you almost an hour ago."

"I wanted to be prepared for You."

"A worthy sentiment but a futile one." He beckoned and, as she approached, He put his hands in her hair. Fingers, frighteningly strong and swift, crushed and displaced the pins and braids so Clarice's hair slid down her back in a tangled mass. "Now you are perfect," He said and she knew better than to disagree. It was time for the shimmering gown to go as well and quickly. She knew His temper here. She was to make herself available and would be summarily taken and dismissed. He was impatient about having to wait and would not waste more time on her than was necessary.

In an effort to comply, she removed her gown with speed rather than subtlety, though she still managed to make herself look somewhat graceful, and laid herself back, the willing sacrifice But, her Lord Sauron did nothing, continuing to read the document He had in His hands and she had to be patient and endure. Only when He had finished, and set the document aside, did He turn to avail Himself of Clarice

Despite the haste, Clarice savored every second. This, this was worth everything, the terror, the risk. Who would not give their life to lay down with a God? If she had to walk into the trap again, open eyed, knowing exactly what she would suffer, she would do it without hesitation. It was like being washed under a wave of fire, like being pierced by thousands of tiny crystal shards, like... Like nothing her thoughts could encompass. As always, her mind soon went blind and deaf to all mortal concerns, including the ability to shape words and language. And, though she knew it not, this was well for Clarice, as all thought of killing Morwena was extinguished with the rest of her thoughts. Sauron could not read her plan for there was nothing there to read.

"No. Stay," He ordered as she sat up and reached for her gown. "I have a great deal of work that needs to be finished before the banquet tomorrow night. You are to stay here and divert me." Clarice groaned inwardly and cried with delight at the same moment. It was a grueling job, staying up all night, quite possibly chilled in nothing but a dressing gown, and that only if she were lucky, fetching and carrying, keeping the wine glass always full, and singing until her throat was raw, playing the harp even as her fingers bled from the constant chafing of the strings, all the while being ready to lie down and open herself to Him at a moment's notice, then go on again as if nothing had happened. Clarice had served her Lord during His long nights of work before and it always left her exhausted and sore, both physically and emotionally.

But she could not wish it away. It was a job for an official mistress, a sign that, despite recent events, she still stood high in His favor. If she gave good service tonight, might He not remember it tomorrow at the feast, even while the little slut was singing her song? Assuming, of course, that she was still alive by then. Clarice had one last ploy to eliminate her before she could make her play tomorrow night. If the maid servant could only manage to get some time alone with her...


	7. Chapter 7

Hi all. So, I just bought a house and am now immersed in massive repairs but we'll just talk about fun shall we? This is probably most plot heavy chapter so far. I might even go so far as to say it's the turning point. Anyway, I hope it still pleases, despite the craziness in my life right now.

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><p>It was the day of the feast and the bath Morwena had so dreaded could be put off no longer. And, indeed, it was just as she had feared.<p>

"My master said I was to guard you at all times," the ring wraith said, in a voice that invited no question.

Morwena frowned. "Couldn't you search the room first" she asked, "and then stand at the door? No one will be inside but my maid and I."

"I am a wraith. There is no impropriety." Perhaps not, but, in the presence of the wraiths, Morwena always felt the most piercing scrutiny from their unseen eyes and, whether it were carnal or no, it still made her horribly uncomfortable.

"I am already in a bad state about about what I have to do to day," she pleaded. "If I'm to do my best, I can't allow anything to increase my nerves. If you watch me bathe, I may become so distressed that I can't hold my voice steady."

"Why would you do that?" asked the wraith in the same flat voice.

"Because I don't like to be watched. It makes me distressed and frightened. I can't explain it. It simply does." In the end, it was this argument that prevailed since the Nazgul most certainly did not want anything to diminish the quality of Morwena's performance. The guard called in one of his fellows and, together, they practically tore the wash room to shreds.

By the time they had finished, the water in Morwena's bath had gone cold and had to be replaced. But then she was very relieved to finally be able to sink into the warm water after nearly a week without bathing. She knew she had become spoiled with luxury. Before her elevation, a few months ago, she had washed only once or twice a year. But today, if any day, was the day to look her best. Breathing the hot steam made her a bit light headed and helped her forget her worries. As she heard her maid servant kneeling down behind her in preparation to wash her hair, there was a sharp grating sound of metal that set Morwena's teeth on edge, as if the girl were dragging the washing basin across the floor, instead of lifting like she should.

"Mind what you're about, if you would," Morwena called. "I'd rather not damage my host's goods."

"Of course, my Lady." There was a strange edge to the girl's voice, making her sound almost more frantic than Morwena herself. But the washing of her hair continued without flaw, as the girl guided her head gently back into the basin. The heat of the water pressed against her scalp and into her brain, her mind drifted, and she almost dozed.

Suddenly, she felt something cold and hard brush against the now warm skin of her shoulder and, in shock, she flinched away. There was a choked gasp and a flurry of motion behind her, ending in a clatter as something fell to the floor. Whirling around to discover the cause of the noise, Morwena saw her maidservant, her face twisted with hatred and fear, her hand frozen in the very at of reaching for the hooked, black bladed orc knife that lay on the floor between them.

Morwena's scream brought her wraith guard bursting through the door. In a single sweep of his pale dagger, he had slit the girl's throat, the body dropping onto the floor and a pool of blood spreading out from it. As Morwena stood there, she began to tremble, and then to weep. Having already been filled with nerves at the through of her coming task, she found the additional strain too great. But it was more than just fear for her life. It was the the realization of her betrayal by the girl she had kept close but who, it was plain, had schemed for her death all along. The venomous snake, the collapsing stairs, who else could have engineered them? Even the poisoned food had come from a meal the girl had served her. And all that time she had smiled at her and spoken her fair and declared it an honor to serve her.

It took all her will to bind up her dripping hair and drag her fine dress onto her wet body. She wanted nothing more than to go hide away and not put herself through another ordeal. But she knew she had a duty and she would endure this just as she had endured cold and hunger and indignity many times before.

The Lord of the Nazgul looked with displeasure at Morwena's less than polished appearance but he quickly changed his tone when her guard whispered to him what had happened. Clever, clever of Clarice to use the girl's own maid, but not quite clever enough. She would pay for this. Trying to kill Morwena after he had invested so heavily in her was an offense almost on par with striking his dear little pet. Fortunately, Morwena's unstudied beauty was such that her slightly disheveled appearance only made her appear more lovely. In fact, it might even work to his advantage, he mused grimly as he hustled his retinue along to the feast hall. It did make her look appealingly pitiable and helpless.

Due to the assassination attempt and its aftermath, the wraith lord arrived late...in a most unfashionable way. In fact, he and all his followers walked into the hall in the midst of a speech by the war chief of Harad. There was a _very_ uncomfortable silence at his interruption and he cringed all through the long walk up the hall to take his seat at his Lord's right hand. He did have one small triumph to comfort him. Wisely taking care not to look at Sauron himself, he instead fixed his gaze on Clarice where she sat on his left hand. When she saw Morwena still very much alive, her lips went so white that it could be seen even under the thick red paint.

"You're late," said Sauron coldly, as the wraith lord slid into his seat next to him and attempted to make himself look small.

"A deeply regrettable and highly avoidable disaster," he mumbled, knowing the right or, at least, the least wrong answer to give in this type of situation. Temporarily, Sauron waved him away and gestured to the Harardim leader to continued.

Clarice sat straight backed in her chair, every muscle tensed hard as stone. The stupid little half-orc slut had failed her yet again, for the last time doubtless, since she had likely been caught by now. Which could very well mean she had blabbed all Clarice's secrets too. Still, what of that? Even now, when she was out of favor, the Lord of the Nazgul still did not dare raise his hands against her. She glanced over at him with haughty disdain, some of it rather forced, she had to reluctantly admit, and had to refrain from gnashing her teeth in anger at what she saw.

Instead of having her retire to the far end of the hall with the other servants, the Lord of the Nazgul had, of course, chosen the peasant girl to stand at his elbow and wait on him. At first, this angered Clarice but, as she watched, she began to smile. The pathetic bumpkin was so overawed by her surroundings that that she was quite a mess. Her face was most unbecomingly tight with tension and her hands shook so that she almost spilled while pouring. Satisfied that the girl would end up making an ass of herself rather than otherwise, she allowed herself to relax a bit and delicately cut a sliver of meat from her portion, then set it gently between her lips to show that _she_, at least, know how it was done. And then she leaned to her Lord beside her, twining her hands through His raven hair and touching her lips to the ivory skin below His jaw. She thought He might rebuff her, as He often did in public. But, tonight, He suffered her caresses and Clarice exulted. Such attentions must make her lowborn rival sick with jealousy and make it still more difficult for her to concentrate on her tasks.

The Lord of the Nazgul nodded to himself. Although it had allowed her to walk into Clarice's trap, in the end, it had served him well to keep his council close. Since Morwena had no reason to view Clarice as a rival, her display was falling upon blind eyes. Sometimes he amazed even himself with his cleverness. He had no need for food and most of it tasted as dust to him but the heavy wines could still cut through the deadness a little. He drank deeply and was pleased.

Morwena did notice Clarice, but only as the woman who had tried to kill her, which was upsetting enough. But more distracting by far was the presence of her God, Sauron, no more than a few feet away. The Lord of the Nazgul watched his Lord's mood carefully, waiting for exactly the right moment to introduce his ploy with Morwena. This might be the right moment. Sauron was finishing the last piece of meat on his plate and having an animated conversation with the Harad battle master over the wraith lord's head.

"My Lord, may I crave a boon of you?" he asked when an appropriate lull occurred in the conversation. Trying to cut in would have more than negated any amiable mood his lord might have been feeling.

Sauron looked at him incredulously. Clearly, his earlier crime of lateness would not be so easily dismissed. "A boon? You? You used up all your favors earlier tonight." He coughed significantly.

"As you wish, my lord." The ring wraith searched his mind as swiftly as he could for a way to save the situation. "I know my offense is grievous but I have not offended you alone. All these fine lords you have brought here to honor have also been inconvenienced by my conduct this evening. I could only hope some of them might have been diverted by the entertainment I had prepared."

"Entertainment?" The Harad chief looked intrigued.

Sauron looked bored. Very little entertainment would be novel to him. "Well, if you want to see it, he can go ahead an present what he has." He waved his hand dismissively and called for more wine. The Lord of the Nazgul clapped his bony hands and Morwena came forward, her hair hanging loose and her shivering barely concealed. Only his ages of training prevented the wraith lord from burying his head in his hands. Things were not going well at all but he must brazen it out and hope for the best. "As some of you may know, this is one of my newest serving girls, who has been discovered to have many hidden talents, one of which is an exceptionally beautiful voice, which I will now have her..."

He was interrupted by a cry of protested from a partially drunken Clarice. "You would ask a common servant girl to sing at a high banquet?" she squealed in outrage. "How dare you insult my Lord's guests in this way. If entertainment is required, _I _will sing."

"Hold your tongue, Clarice," said Sauron sternly. Raising a hand, almost as an afterthought, he struck her across the face. Though the blow did not appear particularly forceful, Clarice whimpered and sank down, cradling her cheek. "I have said she may sing if the general of Harad wishes it," he said, the hint of a snarl behind his tone. "And so, sing she will. Does anyone else wish to try and thwart me?" The Lord of the Nazgul smirked to himself. With his magic and his deep knowledge, Sauron could make the lightest tap an agony. But that was of small consequence for Clarice was about to experience a pain far deeper than that of her wounded flesh. By acting against Morwena, Clarice had made Sauron much more determined to see her perform, where as, before, he had been indifferent at best.

Rising slowly from her knees, but still looking at the floor, Morwena opened her mouth and sang. It was not a love song, as he had hoped it would be, but, as he listened, the wraith lord began to suspect she had chosen something far better. In fact, Morwena had chosen to sing a prayer hymn, the very one she had sang when she spilled her blood on the sacrificial stone in her village years ago. Singing a prayer directly to the God was so utterly blatant and unimaginative that it could only be done by an ignorant peasant and only with complete sincerity. The ring wraith dared to glance sidelong at his master and saw Sauron's lip curl. He _was_ amused, perhaps even charmed by this pious]display.

She really was a lovely girl, Sauron thought to himself, the way the fire light caught in her hair, the way she held the level of her eyes just so, neither looking him in the face nor away. There was pride in her, he could see it in her carriage, the light of her eyes and yet, she was wholly respectful. Not a pride to be broken then, but to be nurtured and tended, perhaps gently pruned, until all her pride was to obey him, a much more interesting task then the much more frequent one of dominating the stupid and ambitious through empty fear. And, judging by the sentiment in her song, it was a task already well on its way to completion.

And she was clever too. She would learn quickly whatever he chose to teach her, be it history, ancient languages, games of skill, or bed tricks. Or, best of all, ways of using the first three as bed tricks. Suddenly realizing the way his thoughts were leaning, Sauron drew back to consider more carefully. But why not? He certainly would not be having Clarice in his bed tonight, not after her outburst. No, he would ignore her and let her spend the night sweating with fear of what he might do to her.

As Morwena finished her song, he clapped his hands sharply. "Fetch a stool," he commanded. "I would have this sweet singer sit at the high table and taste food from my own plate." The wraith lord saw Morwena's face go white as she realized her ordeal was not yet over and prayed she would not faint. A low stool was brought and set in the front of the dais so Morwena could sit with her back to the crowed hall bellow and a small plate was set before her. Still slightly unstable,she had to put her hands on the edge of the table to steady herself but, nonetheless, managed to take her seat with relative grace and without upsetting anything on the table. Inside his head, the Lord of the Nazgul sighed with relief.

"What is it?" asked Sauron, seeing a troubled look on Morwena's face. "This is a great honor for you."

"It is," she replied and, at the deferential but clear tone in her voice, he felt his body tense. His mind was quite made up now about what he was going to do with her. "I am very afraid You will think me ungrateful," she went on. "But I did not come and sing before You to win honor for myself, no matter how wonderful." He motioned for her to continue as he removed slices from his cut of meat and placed them on her platter. Morwena drew back. "I came to plead for another and I would never presume more than one boon."

The Nazgul lord tried to signal for her to cease. His need for mercy, while genuine, had been just a ploy. The point had been to get her noticed and now she risked souring the notice she had already received. "Just eat the meat you little fool," he screamed inside his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Clarice smirk faintly, despite the puffy red mark on her cheek.

More about your dead father, I presume," said Sauron, reaching across the table to nudge the plate closer to her again.

"No, I still care deeply about my family, but, as I said, I can only ask one favor and..."

"Stop." He held up his hand. "This intrigues me, so I will consider your request. But not one word are you allowed until you finished all that I put on your plate. Think of it as a challenge," he finished indulgently. She looked healthy but still far too thin. She would be ever so much fairer if the bones in her cheeks and hands didn't stand out _quite_ so much. If he learned that the wraith lord had been underfeeding her... Or, perhaps, it was just her self-denying nature. Either way, it would be a pleasure forcing her to finally put some good food in her body. Morwena looked doubtful at the proposition. "Oh, don't worry," he soothed. "I promise I won't send for any orc refuse, discarded entrails, waste, or anything like that." The sound of chuckling rippled around the hall as his local retainers remembered occasions in the past when he _had_ done such things, then turned to the Haradrim and other guests to fill them in on the amusing details.

"I obey, my Lord," said Morwena and began gingerly chewing the meat. The ring wraith cringed and Clarice grinned for all at the high table could see she had the manners of a peasant. Sauron appeared unconcerned. Before she had even finished the meat, he gathered a great pile of fruit, nuts, and cheese and put it on her plate, as well as refilling his wine glass and pushing it across the table to her. Then, he sent away to the kitchen for an advance portion of the special roasted _Mumak_, cooked particularly for the men of Harad, and of the sweets that were meant to follow the meal.

Morwena lifted one piece after another to her mouth, chewed and swallowed, mechanically. The food was delicious beyond anything she had ever tasted. The Lord of the Nazgul had not starved her but, being a wraith himself as were his highest subordinates, he was not exactly concerned for the quality of his table. Ripe berries burst in her mouth and she felt the juice run down her throat, heavy and sweet. As she bit into it, the crust on the _Mumak_ meat cracked so sharply that she could almost hear it. The strange, exotic, spices inside made her throat tingle and burn. Thought the tastes were good, she had never eaten food this strong or this rich and that, combined with the tight knot of nerves in her gut, made her deeply afraid she might be sick.

Sauron watched her carefully as she ate each piece, carefully analyzing her expression, her breathing. He wanted it to be a challenge for her, but one that she would, ultimately, pass, thus increasing both her pride and her trust in him. So, when she swallowed the last of her candied nuts and looked up at him with triumph and expectation, he considered carefully. There was discomfort in her face, but no genuine pain. It was all in her mind that the food would disagree with her. Reaching across the table, he took the goblet and tilted one of the flagons towards it. Morwena's eyes fell and a deep thrill went through him at having her emotions in such complete thrall to him. In reality, he only filled the cup up partway, knowing Morwena's fear made it look much fuller than it truly was to her.

As he predicted, Morwena did not notice. To her wine was still relatively unfamiliar and any amount could be frightening. She took a deep breath and drained the glass in a slow, steady, draft. It was only a swallow or two but she felt like she had done a great thing. And it humbled her as well. Instead of assuming she was finished this time, she remained, with eyes on her plate, patiently awaiting His next command.

"You have met my conditions." Again, that rich, beautiful, voice poured over her like oil. "And, in so doing, you have avoided shaming the hospitality of my table. Now, speak your request."

"I fear, in consideration of what happened at our last meeting, You may hold ill will towards my honored guardian, the Lord of the Nazgul, an enmity that has only been increased by our late arrival tonight."

"Yes."

"I ask for You to pardon him." Several guests near enough to hear gasped at the boldness of the request coming from a mere serving girl and the entire hall rippled as the tidings were passed down the tables to those further away.

"I cannot agree to such a request without due consideration but I promise he and I shall discuss the matter this very night."

"You are dismissed, Morwena," the Lord of the Nazgul said firmly. "You have done very well and I know you must be tired. So, go and rest." Best to get her out of the way while his lord was still pleased with her, leaving him with a favorable impression. To his relief, neither his Lord, nor Morwena herself offered any objection to his command. She rose, still with good poise, and bowed, then backed respectfully out of the hall. Everything had gone excellently. The way the Lord Sauron had toyed with the girl, it was one of his most common forms of seduction. Clearly, he had an interest in her which was more than could have been wagered on. At the very least, he had bought some time for the attraction to grow. Feeling more secure than he had in some time, the wraith lord poured himself a goblet of the very heaviest wine and prepared to enjoy himself for the rest of the evening.

As the final course of the banquet was beginning, Sauron leaned to his side and whispered, "After the feast, have her sent to my room." Triumph blazed through the Lord of the Nazgul. Though victory had seemed a possible eventuality, it was far from assured, and he had not expected it this soon. Quickly, he reigned himself in, not wanting his Lord to see, not yet. Once Clarice had been removed, Sauron would thank him for it, he usually did, but now things were still at a very delicate stage.

"My Lord, this is a great honor," he stammered. "Do you mean...?"

"Come now." Sauron gave him a slap on the back. "No need to be coy, as if you were the girl herself. You and I have known each other for long enough that you should be able to guess my meaning. I want her." He grinned fiercely, showing his teeth. "She works for you so, tell me, will there be any trouble?"

"I think not, My Lord. Certainly, she will not resist you physically. She has worshiped you all her life and would obey your command, even if it were to take her own life. But..."

"I knew there would be a but to this. You were making it sound so overwhelmingly pleasant."

"Lord, hear me out." The ring wraith spoke quickly and held up his hand. It would never do to put him off now. "The very fact that she worships you so completely does create some small difficulties." His master raised an eyebrow quizzically. "She considers herself unworthy of you and can scarcely bring herself even to look at you, as you saw tonight. For that reason, it is likely she may be very unresponsive or even try to pull away from you, not because she doesn't want to but because she feels she shouldn't."

"I see. But that can be dealt with. Is she a virgin?"

"I have no idea, My Lord. Certainly, she has done nothing since entering my employ but, as you say, her past is obscure."

"It matters not. I shall have her either way. See to it."

"With pleasure, My Lord." Infinitely more pleasure than his master realized.

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><p>If you're the typical fan fiction reader (you know what I mean), you'll want to tune in next time.<p> 


	8. Chapter 8

So, if you're one of those people (like me) who skips through fan fiction looking for sex scenes, you've found the right chapter. If you're actually following the plot I know this has been slow, getting ready to move in a little over a week. Anyway, this is what you've been waiting for. Enjoy.

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><p>"He wants what?" cried Morwena when she received the news. Immediately, she was overcome with nerves again, the blood draining from her face as she swayed as if she might faint.<p>

"There is absolutely nothing to be afraid of," the Lord of the Nazgul tried to reassure her. "He was very pleased with your song and simply wants to give you your reward. Nothing more." This was strictly true. But the wraith lord had only said Sauron wished her to go to his chamber, nothing of what was to happen after.

"But I've already had my reward." She placed her hand over her heart, remembering the warmth of her triumph. "And then I was allowed to sit with Him. It was more reward than I deserved."

"The Lord Sauron will decide what you do and do not deserve," he told her coldly. "And do not forget, your behavior reflects on me. If you do not give a good account of yourself, he may revoke the pardon he gave me." He thought smugly that evoking her pity was just the trick to get Morwena to cooperate. He had studied his candidate well and, as expected, she bowed her head in acceptance. The journey to the top of the tower was not, however, quite as bad as her previous trip. The Lord of the Nazgul led her there himself in a large escort of his followers so there was not danger of getting lost or fear of wandering in the dark passages alone. She rather hoped they would come inside with her as well, so she would not have to face Him alone, but such was not her luck. When they reached the great door, it was ajar and the Lord of the Nazgul all but shoved her through it, then quickly pulled the door shut behind her. She was alone in the room.

She had had just enough time to recover from this shocking treatment and to start feeling frightened again when the door on the opposite side of the room opened and Sauron stepped in. He motioned for her to join Him at the table. Again, they sat across from one another and again He gave her wine. She felt His eyes rest on her as she drank nervously.

"Do you know why you are here?" He asked her steadily.

"No, My Lord, I have no idea at all beyond the fact that You called me here."

"Then I will be frank with you. You have taken my fancy and I brought you here to lie with me." There was a moment of total non-comprehension in which Morwena stared at Him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Then she was completely overwhelmed by three conflicting thoughts, each of which screamed at her with frantic intensity. The first was that this was a great honor, greater far than anything she had ever dreamed of and she was filled with wonder. The second was terror. How could a mere mortal survive such close and prolonged contact with a God? It would be the death of her. And the third thought, predicted most accurately by the Lord of the Nazgul, was "I am not worthy." But she knew none of this mattered. Forcing herself back under control, she said only, "as my Lord wills."

"I do will, but you need not be afraid. I do not expect you to be other than you are. You need not attempt to please me by any means necessary. It will suffice if you render yourself pliant to my attentions."

"I am not as innocent as you seem to think," said Morwena, a grim edge to her voice. "I hope that does not displease you." He shook His head but remained looking intently at her and she knew He wanted her to say more. "I have already told you that we were very poor," she went on, her eyes cast down. "In an attempt to support my family, I gave the only thing I had to give, and then I used the same tactic to make my way here. I have frequently found myself in a situation where I was expected to, as You put it, 'please by any means necessary.'"

"But it was not natural for you. You did not wish it."

"No, I did not," Morwena replied with sudden fierceness. "I did what I had to and told myself I did not care but never fully believed it." Then she caught herself and went very white.

"No, I am not going to ask if you wish it now or not." That was precisely what she had been afraid He would ask. "If you did not, you would feel compelled to lie and, besides, it makes little difference to me. But I do ask you not to feign anything. Do as your heart bids you, no more. My one command is that you do not actively resist. Obey that and I can take care of myself."

Morwena bowed her head in assent, waiting with trembling heart for what would happen next. She had spoken far too boldly she knew. How had she been so careless? But He seemed not to mind and sat, almost expressionless, regarding her as He finished His wine. Now she was close enough to see His eyes, light brown, not pale and watery, but rich and vibrant. They were the most immortal part of Him and, therefore, the most beautiful and most frightening. Inside of them was the entire compass of the world's life, all his passion, joy, rage, or despair, for what had been, what was, and what would be, from the world's first conceiving to the closing of doom.

He saw her glance and smiled faintly. "Again, there is something you wish to ask me."

Morwena knew better than to protest this time. "Yes, I want to ask, why me?"

"I need no reason. I am free to lie with whom I will with no more justification than a passing whim. But, in your case, I am intrigued by your sincerity, your simplicity, your forthrightness. It is something that I have not encountered, at least not for a long, long, time. It appeals to me." At this, she blushed deeply and shivered with pure pleasure. "Ah, you liked that answer."

"Yes, My Lord. It is good to be admired just for being who you are."

"I am glad it pleases you." He extended a finely formed white hand. "Shall we go?" Morwena hesitated, filled with fear at the thought of actually touching him. Seeing her reluctance, Sauron reached out and took her hand Himself. His skin was cool and very smooth to the touch. It was hairless and without lines. His grasp was light, barely touching her hand, guiding rather than holding, but she could sense it was as strong as a steel vice and, if He wiled it, there was no way she could get free.

She followed through the far door and down several passages, until they came to His bed chamber. Although this chamber was almost incomprehensibly rich, the bed frame of black wood, intricately carved, and the bed clothes and hangings of fur and velvet, the place was in a sad state of disarray. The bed was unmade and the linens tumbled about. Books were spread around the room, as were the remains of a half eaten meal and its bed tray.

"This is the fault of my love of privacy," explained Sauron, almost apologetically. "I so rarely trouble to have servants up here."

"It matters little to me," replied Morwena, her voice harsh, almost defiant. Panic was rising in her again, for her fear could no longer be evaded. Sauron climbed onto the bed and, with a careless kick, thrust all the clutter onto the floor.

"Come, Morwena, it is time." He beckoned to her. The sound of Him using her name which, had she known it, was something He rarely did with His lovers, sent a jolt through Morwena's spine. A lifetime of reverence won out over her fear. Reaching behind her, she attempted to undo the laces of her gown and, thought she was still filled with nervousness, she held her hands steady and they did not tremble.

Many times in the past Morwena had stood thus before one with authority over her as he sprawled on his bed watching her disrobe. But, this time was far different from all previous times. For one thing, she had never before wanted to be in that position. But, now, though her body might be reluctant, her soul was crying out with joy. Also, she had never worn high court clothing on such occasions, nor tried to remove it without help. Now, try as she might, the tightly cinched bodice foiled her hands. Her fingers became tangled in the laces and she could no longer tell which knot went to which string. Humiliation coursed through her and she raged internally at her inability to do even this seemingly simple task.

Sauron sat watching her with His faint half smile, which did little to help her confidence. "You're a very proud girl, Morwena," he said at last. "And I admire that about you. But, come, allow me to assist you." He patted the bed beside Him. Slowly, she came and seated herself with her back to Him. Cool and feather light, His fingers traced along the neck line of her gown. She shivered all over as, slowly and carefully, He began to draw out her laces, pausing every so often to stroke the now exposed skin between them. "You need not be so frightened," He whispered, leaning so close she could feel His hair brush her shoulder. "I promise not to bite, at least not until you're ready for me to." Soon Morwena felt the pressure of the heavy bodice release, and then it peeled down from her like a chrysalis being shed from a butterfly. Suddenly, she became aware of her pinkened skin, unevenly colored, her little breasts with their tiny pointed nipples and compared herself to to Clarice: full bosomed, with perfect powdered pale skin. She felt ashamed and turned away.

"Morwena, you are beautiful." Sauron set His hands to her chin and shoulder and gently but firmly forced her to look at Him.

"My Lord, I didn't think..." Morwena mumbled, trying unsuccessfully to hang her head.

"That I would not care about beauty? No, no one ever does." Now there was a spark of anger in His voice. "Do you think I like this? That I enjoy living like this?" He gestured fiercely towards a window giving a glimpse of the cloud wrack and poison stained sky of Mordor. "Do you think I like having to depend so much on those filthy orc creatures? I have often wondered why my old master could not have created less distasteful slaves. That is another reason why I seldom have servants in my chambers. Their refuse and stink gets spread everywhere, even to places where they do not go. No, this is all sad necessity. No one else really cares for the world as I do. No one understands the true potential of its beauty. I am like the soldier who slaughters a beloved old war horse rather than suffer the ignominy of seeing it reduced to drawing a wood cart for boors who never knew its glory." He clenched His fists so hard she saw the skin around the knuckles stretch. "All this foulness is only a temporary evil. I must make my armament and my arsenal and then, one day, the world will be mine and I will never let anyone harm it again. I will make it perfect. Some day. Some day." He bared His teeth. "But you I have now and need not wait to taste your perfection." He pulled her to Him. "I am no longer in the mood to be gentle."

Hands that were now almost talons seized her skirt and rent it open and then came kisses that seared her skin like fire, covered her mouth like they were drawing out her soul. Morwena was in pain and fear and transcendence but she held herself still and made no motion. Even though she made no resistance, His hands gripped her, restrained her, as though she did. And when He pinned her to the bed, it was as though the weight of the world lay upon her.

Never before had Morwena experienced anything when being taken save disgust and frigid detachment. Now, on the contrary, she was present with an almost agonizing clarity. She was mounted on a wild stallion galloping over the plains. She was astride a mighty eagle, soaring and diving through the sky. She stood on the rocking deck of a boat, riding the waves of a great sea. In every case, she felt the power surging inside of her. She moved with the horse, the bird, the waves, felt the speed and flight and was exhilarated by it. But, at the same time, knew the power came from without. She had no control over it. She could be let fall as it flew on and this terror and this helplessness also she loved. And then it was as if lava were poured into her, excruciating and wonderful. Morwena was overwhelmed and, casting back her head, she let the tears run from her eyes.

Slowly she returned to consciousness to find Sauron's white fingers in her hair. "I hope I have not hurt you too badly," He said, His voice soft again.

"No, My Lord, at least not physically. I've led a hard life and am tough inside and out."

"Not quite so tough as you seem to think." Following His gaze, she saw several places where her body was marked with bruises and scratches from the grip of His hands. "Normally, I have no objection to leave women with some little tokens to remember me by. In fact, I rather like it. But not you, Morwena. No blemish must mar your purity." Slowly, He drew His hand over her body and, in its wake, all sign of injury vanished, leaving her skin as soft and flawless as if she had just come out of the bath. With a sensation almost of horror, Morwena involuntarily shrank away, reminded again that this was a God who lay beside her, who had just lain with her.

"What? Do you prefer it the other way?" asked Sauron, almost teasing, in response to her actions. He drew His hand over her again and where it touched, her skin was crisscrossed by a spider web of tiny cuts. But, before she had a chance to fully feel the pain, He passed it back the other way and she was whole again. He did this several times, until Morwena's skin was quivering with the overwhelming sensation but whether singing or screaming she could not tell.

"You promised not to frighten me." She turned her face to the side, burying it in the pillow.

"Your beauty caused me to forget myself and surely now you must accept, Morwena, that, indeed, you _are_ beautiful"

"As my Lord says," she replied meekly, "and please grant me forgiveness if any of my doubts have angered you."

"Not at all. You need not constantly ask after my mood. If you have managed to truly arouse my wrath, you will know." He turned her face up and kissed her and Morwena made her body like wax so that it would move to His will. As He caressed her, He shrugged Himself out of His own garments. In His first frenzy of desire, He had only parted what was necessary. Now He was white, white, white on white. There was no hair, flush of excitement, no traces of a scar to break the stark immaculateness of His body and Morwena shivered again at the strangeness of it all. At length, He drew her under Him a second time and, again she felt her soul turned inside out so that the tears ran from her eyes. "Why do you weep?" he soothed, stroking her hair. "I am not hurting you this time."

"But in, a way, You are," she gasped. "Contact with Your sacredness sears my mortal flesh beyond what it can endure."

"My other lovers seldom complain of this and yet yours is the purest flesh that I have tasted in many a long year."

Blushing again at His praise, Morwena nevertheless managed to keep her voice steady. "It may be that those who are more focused on the material world alone are not able to open themselves fully to You." She spoke the innocent truth as she saw it but it doing so she played directly into the hands of the Lord of the Nazgul for her words immediately made Sauron think of Clarice and contrast her fawning obeisance unfavorably with Morwena's genuine reverence.


	9. Chapter 9

Nice to see everyone again. I won't promise to update faster this time because I've come to realize, despite my best intentions, it probably won't be faster...So, I'll just promise to not be slower... Any way, another chapter in which Morwena actually does something. And before anyone says anything, I know taxidermied is not a real word...but it sure sounds cool doesn't it?

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><p>Morwena woke with a sense that it was late, although her room had no window and, furthermore, the light in Mordor was so changeable that it was often hard to tell the hour with certainty. As she stretched, she was surprised by a crisp crinkling sound and, looking down at herself, saw she was wearing a vivid scarlet robe of a fine fabric, too stiff and rich for sleeping in. Feeling the way it scrapped against her skin as she sat up, she realized she was naked beneath the robe. What had she been doing sleeping in a robe with no night dress under it, a robe that clearly did not belong to her?<p>

She drew her legs under herself and, as she did so, she felt a sweet soreness in her very core and, with that sensation, memory came flooding back to her. She had been summoned to her Lord Sauron's chamber to serve as His bed mate. That thought alone still made her giddy and, when He had finished with her, He had wrapped her in this robe to replace the gown He had rent from her body.

With growing horror, Morwena realized that the robe must belong to Clarice, Clarice who had tried to kill her when she had no reason to. What would she do now that she had ample cause. Morwena doubted that she herself would be more than a passing fancy for Sauron. She was honest with herself on that point although the thought of never again knowing the unearthly transcendence of the previous night made her almost long for death. But, despite this fact, she highly doubted Clarice would see it the same way. In particular, the taking of her robe could well be perceived as a threat or an insult and Morwena knew she must take care now.

But, she had no chance to pursue these grim thoughts further, for hardly had she arisen and turned towards the chest in the corner to find herself more seemly array, when the doors of the room was thrown open and the Lord of the Nazgul swept in. He must have been alerted somehow by her silent guard who still stood by the wall watching her unmovingly.

"Ah, Morwena," he cried, seeming in a fine mood. "You must have pleased Our Lord exceedingly well for I was granted a full reprieve. Tell me, how did you do it?"

"I think you know," replied Morwena coldly and he recoiled before her tone. As she spoke it all seemed to come clear in her mind. She did not yet perceive that the wraith lord had engineered it all from the very beginning. But she realized he had had no desire to hinder it regardless of the risk to her. "Somehow you knew. That's how you guessed that it was Clarice. And yet you did not tell me the whole truth though it may have put me in great danger." Morwena could not have said what made her so bold to challenge what she knew was the second most powerful man in the world. Perhaps it was the favor of his Master that she trusted would somehow protect her from his wrath. Or maybe it was just her outrage that a being that she had taken risks upon herself to help had used her as a tool. After discovering that her maid was in league with Clarice the previous day, it was almost too much to bear.

The Nazgul Lord was neither angered by her insolence nor derisive of her simplistic virtue as he would have been with another. Morwena's honesty was worth more than gold right now because it was the bait for Sauron's favor and he had to endure whatever difficulties came with it. "I did not wish to worry you with the knowledge," he said, which was true enough. "I was afraid you might inadvertently put yourself at more risk and I felt secure in my ability to guard you." His plan had back fired. He must humor the confounded girl more than ever now. So close. So close and it all could be slipping through his bony fingers. "You must trust me now, Morwena. You are in great danger." Morwena nodded grimly. She knew that already. But her expression did not soften. "Do you think Clarice will let you escape her vengence now?" he snapped, feeling his patience start to go. "She will hunt you down. Out of fear and out of vengeance." He did not tell her that Clarice was generally hated and might have trouble finding someone to obey her without Sauron's direct backing. "Besides," he let his voice sink to a murmur, though it remained a sinister murmur, "you want to taste the delights of my Lord's bed again, don't you? Well, I know his moods and can advise you best how to please him. Only he can protect you from Clarice now."

Morwena felt sick, sick as she had never felt when she was in bed with someone. What had happened the previous night had been terrifying, yes, but it had also been beautiful, private, and sacred. Yes, sacred. To have it spoken of in such a dispassionate, calculation way by an outside party felt tantamount to blasphemy. Not only did it disgust her but it it enraged her that His second in command would treat the Lord Sauron with such little respect. She faced him straight.

"My Lord's favor is not a thing to be manipulated or used. Certainly not to preserve something as low as my life. Kill me for defying you if you wish but, if my Lord truly favors me as highly as you think, which I doubt, He will not be pleased." She shuddered inside, afraid he would take her bait and strike her down, but forced herself to go on. "I am not ungrateful for your aid, nor am I free of the fear of your vengeance. But I revere my Lord above all things, and after last night, I revere Him all the more and, I mean no disrespect to you, but if I must chose between you and He, I will not hesitate."

The wraith lord ground his teeth in anger but she was still far preferable to Clarice. "Then you have passed the test." He forced his voice to sound pleased. "You have proved yourself worthy of my Lord. I knew you were a noble lady but I feared our Lord's recent attention might have gone to your head." It was a stupid lie, one only a fool would believe but, thankfully, Morwena was the fool he had always though her and swallowed down the hook with only the faintest flicker of hestitation.

Clarice came into the room, freshly painted with her hair plaited and pinned like a flower opening. But no amount of coloring could fully hide the mark of the blow she had been dealt yesterday which, overnight, had darkened into a blotched and purple bruise. She sank to her knees and began to make formal obesense, but Sauron cut her off. "I did not call you here to waste time listening to your repetitive flattery. You are currently in disgrace." He paused to see if she would hang herself with the loose rope he'd left her as she usually did, but Clarice was not quite so foolish as all that and remained silent, her face against the carpet. "Raise your head and look me in the face when you speak and don't mumble."

Clarice sat up slowly. "I would not dream of presuming I know better than You, My Lord, even regarding my own behavior."

"To put it plainly then, the Lord of the Nazgul is my highest commander. He deserves almost the respect owed me. And you _dared_ to interrupt him."

"It was nothing," Clarice protested. "Only a jest at dinner."

"Jests are not always as simple as you might think. Your rude act was in front of the entire feast hall. Not just the slaves and locals, but my foreign allies as well. How can I expect to be obeyed when I allow people to publicly scorn those I have placed in a position of authority?" Clarice knew she should hold her tongue. He was furious with her and she knew her position was already in danger because of what else had happened last night. But just thinking about what had happened, what she had risked all for yet failed to prevent, filled her so with hurt, fear, jealousy, and rage that she could dissemble no longer. Bending forward and burying her face in her hands, she wept as if her heart was broken, as indeed it was.

"You criticize my conduct," she cried, "but what of Your own. I know You spent last night rolling around with that filthy peasant girl." She wrinkled her nose. "Your bedroom still stinks of peasant." In response, Sauron only smiled. This gesture was completely unexpected and sent Clarice into a wild panic. "Are you going to deny it?" she asked in a small voice.

"Why should I? I can do what I like to whom I like. So, the bedding I do not deny. I proudly affirm it. The peasant stink, however, I vehemently deny, for I smell nothing." He paused for a moment and sniffed. "Wait. I _do _smell something. But it is nothing like an unwashed worker. Actually, smells rather like...flowers? Clarice, it's _you_ I'm smelling. You're covered your self in so much flower essence to hide your imagined stench that it is actually quite stifling. But you have reason to be thankful, though the 'peasant' girl does not, that I do not mind odors as much as you seem to. You are unhappy you were not in my bed last night? Then, come, get in it now."

Clarice looked at the bed, it's sheets still tossed and tangled from the actions of her rival. Or so she thought. In reality, Morwena had been mostly a passive receiver and the bed's disarray came from her Lords' natural tendency to restless sleep and untidiness. Involuntarily, she made a face.

"Yes, my foolish one," Sauron said indulgently. "I am, in fact, asking you to come lie in the peasant smell." He came forward and put His hands on her. At His touch, her skin ignited with desire like oil at the touch of a flame, and her will crumbled inside the burning husk of her flesh.

"My Lord Sauron requests your presence on a hunting expedition out on the plains of Gorgoroth." The heavy, black-haired man in formal livery bowed before her. The cloaked head of the Nazgul Lord turned in her direction and she felt his eyes rest expectantly upon her. Morwena rose to her feet and bowed to the messenger. "Nothing would give me greater honor," she said in her most gracious tone. "But I must regretfully decline, for I have never been taught to sit a horse taller or more spirited than a farm pony." The Lord of the Nazgul started in horror at Morwena's words. One did not simply refuse the Lord of Barad Dur for any reason, let alone such a foolish one. One pretended one knew how to ride and stayed on as best one could. And, if the horse should throw one, then one fell and broke one's neck.

"There is no need to deny yourself for such a reason," he put in hastily. "I am sure many would be glad to carry such a one as yourself behind them. And, if none should offer, you shall ride with me."

"I am most grateful," she replied and he knew she meant if wholeheartedly. Sometimes her sincerity, her sense of fairness and kindness, almost made him sick. How could his master stand it? He knew some men longed for that which was toxic to them for the very fact that it was. Back, far back, almost before memory, when he still walked under the sun in Numanore, he had developed an interest in a lady too far above him in social rank. Kin to the king himself she was. Upon discovering that several of his friends had a similar fascination with her, they had conceived of a plan to sneak into her palace and have enjoyment of her. But the guards were roused and some of the party captured and executed. Only his swift flight to the mainland had saved him. Looking back, he now realized the lady had not, in fact, greatly exceeding in beauty other women who he could have had easily enough and it was her forbidden nature itself that had lured him. In his eyes, Morwena's outlook on life simply made her weak and and stupid but it wasn't for him to question his master's tastes. It was for him to make himself useful and it was for him to tolerate the girl for she was also useful.

But, as he was preparing himself for the upcoming hunt, he got a fleeting glimpse into Morwena's world. He had his pet brought to accompany him. Although the lizard-bat had grown too large now for perching on his wrist but could still manage to sit on his shoulder. He figured it would enjoy the hunt and wanted to carry it as much as possible before it got too large for that as well. As it came trotting into the room, it stretched up its long leathery neck and bit him affectionately. He reached down and scratched it behind its ear...or rather behind the knobby ridge that marked where its ear was and, as he did, he felt love.

This being, the savage bat-lizard, was the one being in all the world for whom he held unconditional love and affection. When it was grown, it was to be the ultimate flying weapon but only in the hands of a properly skilled commander and so Sauron had ordained that he bond with it utterly that they might fight as one. And so he had been there when it had hatched, sitting beside it as it broke the blotched putrid shell of its egg and staggered out, all helpless and clumsy and wet with slime trails of mucus. He had let it crawl in to his lap, making a damp mess of his robe. And there they had sat and sat staring into each other's faces. He had fed it with his own hands, nursed it on his lap when it had been ill. He would kill to save it, die to protect it, assuming wraiths could die. Was this how Morwena felt about the world in general? He shook his head. That was still foolishness. What was between him and his pet was special. To share it with the world would be to make it cheap.

Morwena followed the Nazgul lord down into the great entry way, her gown and cloak of rich fabric but plain and unadorned. All about the large open space-it was not truly a courtyard because of the vaulted ceiling high above-grooms stood holding horses at the ready. Wolves and large bats also waited for the sport, leashed or perched on gloves of black hide. Sauron was already mounted, his steed neither wolf nor horse with the head, body and tail of a stallion but savage eyes, fangs, and clawed feet. He sat easy in the saddle, seeming not to need the reins at all. Morwena blushed, realizing she watched how He guided His mount with His thighs and that fact stirred a memory in her.

When He saw her, He gave her a smile that made her joints buckle. "The lady shall ride with me," He said, extending His pure white hand. Morwena felt the cool flesh surround her hand and thought how it had been hot against her not many nights before. A servant came and knelt down, holding his hands to make a mounting step for her and she placed her foot upon it as gently as she could. Sauron drew her up by her clasped hand and, reaching down, slipped His other arm about her waist and pulled her onto the seat behind Him. "Be sure you hold on well," He said, guiding her hands around His waist when she she hesitated to touch Him herself. "It would be most unfortunate if you were to fall."

Then he turned in His seat and spoke aloud to the whole company. "We go now to hunt wyrms and any other quarry that you may discover and the one who brings back a prize pleasing to me may win a fine reward." He swung His steed's head about and spurred it forward so that it clattered under the great arch and out along the causeway above the echoing depths of Barad Dur's moat. Morwena held on as tightly as she dared, while His black silken hair whipped into her face. Behind them, horns were blown and the company galloped forward.

The stated object of the hunt was wyrms. There were no true dragons in Mordor. Sauron would not have them about, finding them too destructive and unpredictable to have near his center of power. But the wyrms, bastards and runts of dragons kind, still squirmed through the holes that bored the plains of Gorgoroth, legless, wingless, eyeless, or perhaps all three, but nevertheless a danger if they were hungry and desperate. Sauron mostly let them alone. They served well to put fear into his slaves and there was always the chance they might be of use in breeding someday. He was not a man to waste anything. But, from time to time, the wyrms got too large or numerous and he would be concerned that they were breeding themselves back to true dragons. Then it became necessary to thin them out. But they were only the official quarry. Unofficially, it was whatever the party could catch, whether it went on four legs or two. When the orcs on the plains heard the horns of Barad Dur sound, they ran for the shelter of their holds as fast their legs could carry them.

"Come, speak to me," said Sauron after they had ridden in silence for some time. "I did not call you forth merely to weight my mount's back."

"Forgive me, Lord. I know not what to say that would interest You."

"The topic matters not to me. I was merely curious to hear what you would chose to speak of."

"A test, my lord?"

"Perhaps. Now I know you did not spend the past week researching and polishing a piece of sparkling conversation to dazzle me with."

"And why should I? I am sure anything so contrived You would find horribly dull and..." She hung her head in shame. "I had no way of knowing You would even summon me again. I thought You had forgotten me."

"Because I did not speak with you for a week. Ah, Morwena, I am a busy man and, besides, the delights of your body are like a rich aged wine, to be savored slowly and sparingly, not gorged on and then tossed away."

Her face flamed at these words and she ducked her head so her hood would more completely conceal her. "Do you say things like this to all Your lovers?" she asked in a stilted tone, part of her hoping it was true and she would be spared the burden and uncanniness of being so highly and singularly regarded by a God.

"No," he replied simply. "I always tell the truth. I am called a liar and a deceiver but it is not so. It is others who are the liars, they deceive themselves because they cannot face the truth. Once I asked a man to share his secrets with me and told him he could name his own reward. He asked to be reunited with his wife. She was dead, so I killed him, and for this I am named a treacherous liar. But I never said she lived. It was his own refusal to accept the possibility that she might be dead that led to his downfall."

Morwena felt a shiver go through her. It was true Sauron was not one to be trifled with and many had come to grief when they crossed Him, but how could one criticize a God? Who could fathom the intricate workings of His mind or know the true value and reason behind His plans?

"You've heard the stories they tell of me, have you not?" He asked her.

"I know not which stories You speak of, but, yes, I have heard tales," she replied.

"Do you believe them?"

"Some, my Lord." He looked at her questioningly. "I believe the one where You demanded a human sacrifice from a disobedient clan of Easterlings and the chieftain's daughter begged to be the one. But not the truly extreme ones, like how You drank an entire field of blood dry after a day of slaughter, of that You lay with the entire harem of a Harad lord during a state visit."

"The first tale is not true, the second is. But I will say that most Harad harems are not nearly as extensive as rumor makes them."

"And how extensive is that, my Lord?" She was not sure why she asked this as, in many respects, this was the last thing she wanted to know. It was just like a person with a sore who could not refrain from picking at it, regardless of how painful it was.

Sauron grinned at her. "Rather prurient, are we not?" He chided. "Are you trying to gage my prowess?"

"Oh no, my Lord. I know that, whatever it is, it is more than I can handle. I have to admit, I am a bit curious though," she finished in a hushed voice.

"The harem of a high chief of Harad will usually contain between twenty and forty women, not the hundreds of rumor." He paused. "I sense you are upset. Surely, you're not jealous, are you?"

"How could I be?" asked Morwena in surprise, "when You are not mine in any way and merely to think it would be folly."

"Go on," He prompted when she said said nothing more.

"Not jealous, my Lord, but inadequate," she explained. "You've had, and I'm sure You still have, so many lovers that I do not know how I can possibly measure up."

"Why concern yourself with that? I enjoy you. I do not measure you." But, before He could say any more, a wyrm was spotted by one of the foremost riders. Horns were blown and the entire company charged into full career after their prey. The chase was swift and furious. As Sauron had feared, there was a nest of wyrms hidden under the rocks. The others were roused by the noise of the struggle and came forth to do battle.

Once all the beasts were slain, the hunters followed the slime trail back to their lair and broke all the eggs. Standing by the corpse of the wyrm brood mother, who had made a final stand at the cave's mouth, Sauron gave praise and trophies to the hunters. To Morwena he gave one of the wyrms' paws for being "the fairest lady in the hunt." As far as she could see, she was the only lady in the hunt but knew better than to mention that fact.

"But what am I to do with this?" she asked the Lord of the Nazgul once they had returned to the privacy of his rooms, and she held the large bloody paw away from her self with an expression of confusion and even slight distaste.

"Oh, give it here. I'll have it taxidermied or something so you can show it off if he ever comes here to visit you."


	10. Chapter 10

Just got my computer back online yesterday. Not fun. But, since it's working now, I'll update while I can. In this chapter, Morwena actually grows a bit of a spine (only a little). :P Oh, and there's more sex, but no one cares about that...

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><p>"This is for you," said the messenger, kneeling as Morwena opened the box and lying within was a necklace with a great gold pendent of filigree work, in the likeness of a great shaggy beast with flapping ears, upturned fangs, and a serpent curling from the front of its face. A castle was perched on its back and tiny warriors ran around its feet.<p>

"Where did this come from?" she asked awkwardly, shy at receiving so fine a gift. "It is from Harkohan, the mighty warlord of Harad. Before he left for his own lands, he desired to give it to you as a token of esteem."

"But why would one of the Haradrim want to give _me_ gifts?"

"Don't be foolish." She heard to voice of the Lord of the Nazgul at her shoulder. Now he stood in her presence more often than the reverse. "On the hunt, everyone saw how you carry the Lord Sauron's favor. This means you have power, even though you make no use of it. Since others in your place have freely done so before, there is no reason for our captains to suspect otherwise. Thus, they curry your favor. Take the necklace. It is the proper thing to do."

She took the pendent and laid it about her neck. Like a strand of ice, the chain curled around her throat and laid across the hollow between her collar bones. But, below, she felt nothing through the fabric of her gown. So, from then on, she took to wearing her gowns with the deepest necklines so that she could feel the gold against her skin, viewing it as an act of reverence to her Lord as the gift was given to solicit His favor, alibit indirectly through her.

But the necklace was not alone. Soon, other gifts came pouring in as well: vases, lengths of fine cloth for dresses, oils, lotions, and perfumes in little stone cut jars, and marvelous sticky candies in glass boxes. There was even a pair of birds in a golden cage from far Harad, with beaks like jet and feathers like jewels. She treasured each of the gifts, although she knew the givers had no care for her. They only did it to curry favor with her in the hopes that she would then use her influences of their behalf with the Lord Sauron. But it still thrilled her to play a role in giving reverence to Him, as if she had become a priestess, a hold temple maiden. She seemed almost to shine and glow in her serenity and joy, very different from Clarice's proud looks, and she was totally artless as well. She would not have had the least idea of how to conduct herself if the Lord of the Nazgul had not stood at her shoulder and and quietly advised her.

But all was not well with Morwena. In the midst of her joy, a shadow had fallen upon her health. At first, she just felt overly tired, easily explained away by the fact that she was now almost continuously on display. The Nazgul Lord insisted that she receive less often but her symptoms continued to worsen. Her naturally pale skin faded to a pasty white and even her lips were cool and bloodless, while her hair became hard and dry as straw. Worse, she began to feel dizzy and short of breath. At last, one day, as she rose to thank a chieftain from the east for the roll of fine pelts he had brought her, she suddenly tumbled to the ground in a dead faint, knocking her head against the polished stones of the floor with a hollow thud.

When Morwena came to, she was lying in her bed, wrapped in a loose robe. All jewelry, girdles, and pieces of clothing such as bodices and sleeves, that might in any way constrict her movement or breathing had been removed. The Nazgul Lord sat at her bedside, hunched protectively over her. Five of the other ring wraiths were ranged in a solemn line behind him. Although their faces were shrouded, she could sense their agitation and worry. If she was truly as valuable to Sauron as everyone seemed to believe, His wrath at her death was likely to fall most heavily on those who had appointed themselves her guardians.

"I'm alive," she gasped, forcing her voice out with difficulty. She could see a very slight change in the cloaked forms that implied the loosening of relaxation.

"There will be no more audiences," declared the Nazgul Lord. "Not until well after you are fully recovered. In the meantime, you shall remain in your bed and all your food will be strictly tested."

More strictly than before, she thought bitterly. Ever since Clarice's last round of murder attempts she had not been allowed to sniff or taste anything that had not been rigorously examined. Still, she was more than happy to acquiesce to his commands without protest. She felt positively weak and queasy and lying in bed with nothing to worry about appealed to her a great deal. She slept most of the day, eating only sparingly, and, the next day, she could already sense an improvement in her condition. She felt noticeably stronger, though not strong enough yet to want to rise from her bed. It took a week before she felt anything close to full recovery.

As she became more herself again, she couldn't help wondering if Sauron had heard about her condition and, if so, whether it concerned Him at all. She bowed her head and made a gesture of penance for her arrogance at such presumption but she could not stop the thought from occurring again and again. He had not sent for her. Was that out of respect for her condition or because He had simply forgotten about her? She had no way of knowing. Or, because He had other, far more important matters to attend to, she reminded herself sternly, keeping in mind what He had told her at their last meeting. If He did not know, she wondered what she would do if He should summon her while she still could not rise from bed.

She tried to speak to the Lord of the Nazgul about these worries but he waved her away. "It is your job to be recovering, not worrying," he chided. "I shall deal with all such matters _if_ they should become a concern." Morwena tried to to follow his instructions but was unable to wholly cease her worries and thus, was most relieved at the end of the week, when he said she might rise and dress again.

But her joy was short lived for, the following week, her symptoms returned. Her audiences had been kept brief, her food closely monitored and yet the chest pains and dizziness reasserted themselves as strongly as ever. Another week of bed rest cured them but only temporarily. The Lord of the Nazgul lost patience and disregarded his own council. "It can't be the food," he raged at her, pacing about the bed chamber like a storm cloud. "I've had it all searched to the smallest grain of wheat. No, the problem must lie in you." He stabbed a white, knobby finger at her accusingly. "What is it, girl?" Are you made of glass, that you crack under the slightest strain?"

Morwena drew herself up proudly. "That is not true and you know it well," she replied with dignity. "A creature of glass would hardly survive the life of a servant in your household, my most gentle Lord, and my life before that was harder still." The wraith lord merely snarled at her and stormed out of the chamber, his black robes swirling about him. The other Nazgul, who served as her guards, remained behind and she and they stared at each other awkwardly, until she slumped over and drifted away into another weary sleep.

Finally, the summons came that she had been pining for and dreading for so long.

Fortunately, it came during one of her bouts of recovery, though near the beginning so that she was still very weak. Morwena dragged herself from the bed and, sending one of her guards for a fortifying draft of spiced wine, set about washing and clothing herself, slowly and laboriously. She had to do it all herself for, after the last assassination attempt, she would have no more maids. She even left her hair long to avoid the need of having someone dress it.

The Lord of the Nazgul brought her the cordial himself and fussed about her, making every effort to smooth over his earlier outburst now that her favor was assured once more. But Morwena, still sick and frightened, was in no mood to be pacified. She sulked and asked him to go away, saying her dressing room was already overcrowded, with undead males no less, and how could she possibly be expected to prepare herself under such conditions. When he continued to hover about, she lost her head and flung her hair brush, not directly at him, but at least in his general direction. She immediately regret this, especially when he did not even scold her but, instead, replaced the brush on the dressing table with a respectful bow and withdrew with an apology.

He, the Lord Sauron's second in command, was apologizing to _her,_ and when she had been the one in the wrong no less. But this realization did not make Morwena feel arrogant. Instead, it made her humble and more ashamed than ever. She made a promise to herself that she would confess the incident to her Lord Sauron, beg Him for forgiveness, and ask Him what she could do to make amends. But, the moment she set eyes on Him again, all such thoughts fled her mind and her only care was for the wonder and the greatness of Him. Fortunately, all concern for, or even awareness of, her sickness fled as well.

His greeting was more familiar this time. Drawing her into His arms, He kissed her on the brow. Morwena felt faint, but only for a moment. "You look particularly beautiful tonight," Sauron told her. "Or, perhaps, I have simply forgotten how fair you truly are. Curse my councils and the needs of war that have kept me from you." She smiled with pleasure, hoping He would note the special efforts she had made. Above all, she had selected to wear the golden pendent, thinking it would please Him to see how He was honored through the honoring of her. When He let her into His chamber, she saw a book left open on the table and some papers around it.

"Morwena, can you read or write?" He asked, gesturing towards the book.

"No, My Lord." She did not hang her head as she once would have done for she had learned by now that a display of modesty, at least from her, was displeasing to Sauron.

"Then you must learn. I would have you pass the time reading to me or give you letters to scribe and there are works I am curious to know your mind on." He felt no need to tell her that Clarice could read only the most simple of words and knew not how to write even her own name. "Come, we shall begin now." He motioned to the book again. Morwena hesitated, bewildered by this turn of events. "Perhaps you think it sounds too dull? We could make it more entertaining. Every time you misread a word you must remove a piece of your raiment."

"My Lord, by that standard, the game will be over far too soon and I will have learned nothing."

"That is true. Every ten words then?" Morwena nodded in assent and moved to take her seat across from Him. But He shook His head and gestured for her to follow. Beyond a pair of heavy doors was a chamber much higher than it was long or wide, almost a balcony in that it stood out from the wall of the tower. The far wall was one great window that reached from floor to ceiling, the fabled "window of the eye" that looked out on Mordor and Gorgoroth, away west to the haunted pass. At the base of the window the sill was shaped and lined with cushions to form a kind of couch or bench to which He guided her.

"Is it true?" she asked as He settled among the cushions.

"Is what true?"

"That You can look out from this window and see whatever You wish?"

He smiled indulgently as if humoring a child. "After a fashion. It requires thought and effort though. I can not do it simply at will. Would you care to see?" He held out His hand and helped her to her feet, standing her in the center of the window so that the red glare from the mountain was thrown up against her face. "Now think about what you wish to see." He came and stood directly behind her, pressing against her along all the length of her body and her blood leaped in response. "You must concentrate, or the magic will not work." His voice spoke at her ear in what was either a caressing whisper or a venomous hiss. Either way, it made concentration still more difficult. She felt His arms go around her and each of His hands He laid over her own, which He lifted and held out. So tightly did He hold them that it was hard to tell where the skin of her hands ended and His began. But, on the right fourth finger was a hard band of metal that cut sharply between them. And as she felt His power surge into her, the ring grew hot, until it burned her hand. But she did not flinch or cry out. She bit her lip and held herself rigid.

Then she received another shock for, suddenly all the plain of Gorgoroth wheeled wide beneath her as if she had left the tower and been launched into thin air. All of Mordor was spread before her, just like the places on a map but, despite the great height, she could see everything in perfect detail. The skeleton of a dead wolf was bleaching in the dirty sunlight away north of the fire mountain. The orc hold near the Haunted Pass was up in arms, seemingly with itself. She could see the gleam of their weapons and the dark wetness of their blood. But, in moments, her field of vision had swept beyond Mordor, over the mountains, and into the lands beyond, away south to Umbar.

At last her vision focused in on, what else? her mother's hovel. Inside, she saw her mother and siblings huddled in the dim light of their weak fire. She noted with shock how sallow their skin, how drawn their faces, how sharp their protruding cheek bones. Once, she must have looked as they did, but it had been so long since she was accustomed to want that it now seemed strange to her. In particular, she noted how warn and drawn her mother's face was. She saw the skin around Roanhild's eyes and mouth spasm and pull tight as if she was crying but her eyes stayed dry. She seemed to lack the strength to form tears. Then she raised her apron to her mouth and her whole body was racked by coughs.

Somehow, perhaps by the magical sight that was lent her, Morwena knew that Roanhild's dry tears were from the loss of herself, that she was sick with worry over her missing daughter and Morwena was filled with guilt and sorrow and concern. These emotions, it may be, broke the grip of the magic. In any case, the scene wavered into nothingness and she found herself back in the high chamber. A wave of panic swept over her. For the first time, she felt caged, restricted, from doing what she should.

"Why assume you are powerless to aid your family when you have not even tried?" said Sauron steadily.

Morwena recoiled. He had read her mind. Logically, she had been aware that, as a God, He must posses this ability but she was still shocked, almost affronted to be faced with direct evidence of it. "Do you always read my thoughts?" she asked almost defensively.

"No, like the far seeing, that requires conscious effort most of the time. But, when we are as one, like just now, your thoughts come to me automatically." Morwena blushed, remembering when else they were as one and that this meant He could know all that was in her mind at those moments. "You have my eyes and my ear. You have power. If it matters so much, why have you never tried to help your relatives since you gained my favor?"

"Because my duty is to serve You, not to make use of You. You are no man's tool."

"If I did not know you and know you spoke the truth, such flattery would go ill with you." But, even as he spoke, he could not help but think of Clarice, who had wasted no time in using her influence to heap favors upon herself, while Morwena would not even seek a favor for another. "Fortunately, you need not compromise yourself. I will give you the aid you desire unasked."

Morwena's face lit up from within with pure joy. "My Lord, they say You are cruel," she cried. "But I see it is not so."

"It is so," replied Sauron. His voice cold. "If I did not, you would constantly be unhappy, distracted, and worrying and what good would you be to me then?" He forestalled her exclamation with a look. "I know you. You would do your best to conceal it. But, remember, I can read minds."

Morwena hung her head. "My Lord, You shame me," she whispered.

"That is not my intention. Come, sit again. We have become distracted. Tonight we read." As soon as they began, she saw why He had brought her here, instead of sitting at the table. Here, they could sit side by side with the book between them and He could point to the words and help her follow. The book He had chosen was one of the chronicles of Harad, with its chieftains, its battles, and its sinister sorcerers. She was utterly fascinated by the richness of information contained in the simple marks on the page. She forgot her shame and spoke her awkward and fumbling words without cringing. She did not even bother to count her mistakes and, apparently, neither did Sauron, for she was sure she had made far more than ten. But, finally, after she had muddled through an entire page, He told her it was time for her to pay a forfeit. His long delicate fingers reached over to untie the knot of her embroidered girdle, then raised her up to unwrap her.

As she spun around, a fresh wave of nausea swept over Morwena and her knees buckled. Sauron caught her as she fell. For the first time, he noticed how pale her face was, how clammy her skin, the slightly glassy look in her eyes. It was clear something was very wrong with her but he did not feel afraid. His power was stronger than mortal flesh and, though healing was not something he usually turned his hand to, the power was his and he could do with it what he would. Lifting up Morwena easily, he laid her her back on the cushions. Her eyes opened in his arms and she struggled to smile and hold up her head.

"Thank you, I'm quite all right," she said and he saw the faintest twitch of pain tension in her mouth as she spoke.

"Don't lie to me," he replied shortly. "I can read it in your face and it does neither of us any good at all. Lie still and answer my questions." He took a heavy wrap that had lain among the cushions and cast it about her, poured her a glass of wine and made her drink. "What are your symptoms and how long have you had them?" He listened grimly as Morwena told her story, her wide gray eyes fixed unwavering on his own. The experience she described was obvious to him: poison, and the way she would recover and then lapse again meant a poison repeatedly administrated. The Dark Lord did not think highly of poison. He preferred methods of death that were more immediate, dramatic, and bloody, and which contained the mental anguish of the victim knowing they were going to die, where as poison, by its very nature, needed to be administered secretly. Still, he had always thought it best to familiarize himself with ever weapon at his disposal. "I would say a contact poison, therefore, low to medium strength, administered irregularly." Morwena sighed heavily. She had known in her heart of hearts that things were not over with Clarice and she had sensed that her symptoms where the result of malicious intent but had not wanted to admit it. That was her own burden to bear. She did not want to disrupt her Lord's pleasure more than was necessary.

The white hand curved around her neck and trailed down her breast bone. Sauron checked, feeling the hard gold against his skin. "What is this?" he asked, lifting the pendent.

"It was a gift from one of the Lords of Harad."

"I find that hard to believe." He turned it in his hand, letting his finger tips just brush her skin. She shivered and this pleased him. "You see this Mumakil has rubies for eyes and, while gold is plentiful in the south, these gems are very rare. Furthermore, I recognize this style as the work of a particularly revered goldsmith, who has been dead many years. I happen to know for a fact that this smith made a Mumak pendent with ruby eyes. Considering the rarity of rubies, it seems highly unlikely that he would have made two." She lay on her back gazing up with the semi-unfocused look of utter adoration that he so enjoyed. "You're not listening to a word I say," he chided gently. "I must be boring you."

Of course, Morwena's instinct was to deny this but remembering he could sense thoughts, she quickly checked herself. "No, my Lord, not boring, at least not exactly," she protested, shaking herself out out of her lapsed state. He looked at her questioningly. "Say rather that something else took an even higher place in my mind."

Sauron looked at her and through her. He could sense the desire in her as plainly as if he could see it with his eyes. She had been frightened the first time and she still was, after a fashion, for him a final piquant spice on the feast this night promised. But, now her fear had lessened enough that she was experiencing true carnal longing for the first time in her life, which he could tell confused and unsettled her and her inner turmoil was sweet to him. "I know what was on your mind," he said gently, brushing her hair back from her brow with his hand.

"I do not doubt it," she replied, but he could see the blush in her cheek as she bowed her head.

"You are thinking about how badly you desire to lie down with me." Morwena squirmed and Sauron smiled. "Is that not true?"

"I cannot deny it. That is what I thought of as I listened to the sound of Your voice and watched Your lips move."

"It would be cruel to keep you in suspense longer. Come with me." But, when they reached the bed chamber, Morwena stood awkwardly for a moment, then, very hesitantly, came and knelt before him, laying a shaking hand on the clasp of his sword belt. "Morwena, what is this?" asked Sauron.

"Please, my Lord, I entreat that You allow me the honor of helping You undress." Before he could answer, she rushed on, her words tumbling like a narrow waterfall thrown down from rock to rock. "I know You said I need do nothing for You but I truly wish to. I want to do all for You that I can and if I can please You by my actions, not just my presence, nothing could be a greater honor for me."

He grinned down at her. So, she had learned true desire at last and it was all for him. Tonight might be even more delightful than he had originally thought. Taking her outstretched hands between his own, he slid his thumbs into the intimate crevices of skin between her hot palms. Morwena sighed with rapture and raised his hands to her cheek, the cool white flesh feeling even colder against her flushed skin.

"I know I don't have the kind of skills You are probably used to," she said with feeling. "But I can learn. If you can teach me to read, you can teach me anything."

"With so willing a pupil I'm sure I can," he said indulgently, ruffling her hair. "But not just yet. Tonight, I want to see what you are capable of on your own."

"As You wish, my Lord." She bowed her head, then lifted her hands to the belt again. With out flaw or hesitation, she removed his clothes and, instead of leaving them crumpled on the floor, a habit many of his more high born lovers were guilty of, she folded and set them down neatly.

Sauron could not help smiling to himself at the almost ridiculous sincerity of her service. It was so unnecessary as he was fully capable of undressing himself and yet it mattered so deeply to her. In her eyes he saw himself reflected as a living God. To her he was everything he had always longed to be, struggled so desperately to be, and the worship was sweet indeed. His hair pooled in her hands like ink. Her soft mouth was like a print of blood against the bone white purity of his body. Her hands swept over him in silken caresses and her long hair trailed after like a whisper. He arched his throat to her, his hair spilling back on the pillows, and his mind cried out savagely, "You are mine, mine, mine. Every breath you draw is mine. Your heart beats only to serve my will."

And then Morwena began to speak in a languid, dreamy, voice, almost as if she had caught the words directly from his thoughts. "I belong to You," she sighed, her hands still caressing him. "My blood flows, my heart beats for You alone."

"Here, Morwena, let me help you with your gown. Although you have taken it on yourself to serve me tonight, I imagine the knots of your lacing are still beyond you."

She smiled at him and it was an innocent, almost mischievous smile. "I would hate to ever gainsay You, my Lord, but..." She reached behind her back and had the gown unlaced and down around her hips in only a moment. "I can put it back on as well," she added. "Though I do not think You would have nearly as much interest in that."

"Did you teach yourself that trick to please me?" he asked, reaching out to stroke her bare shoulder.

"No, my Lord. It is something one learns when one has no maid to perform such tasks."

"I can find you a maid easily. I am amazed you do not have one already."

"No. I am honored by the offer but beg to be excused."

And, by his powers, Sauron could sense she truly meant what she said, that it was not some form of false humility. "No fears. I will force no servants on you," he said soothingly.

"I do not trust servants now that You have raised me so high. Half of them are spies, secretly loyal to someone else and, of the rest, most just want to see what favors they can win from me or use me as leverage with others. It is my pleasure to be kind to those who are less fortunate but I will not be used."

She said this last with such vehemence that Sauron felt a prick of curiosity about what had so soured her. But, as he had told her, the reading of thoughts was not automatic for him and he did not wish to force her to delve into anything right now that might be distressing or distracting. No, he wanted her completely relaxed and focused on nothing but himself. If he ever noticed whatever it was causing a great disruption, he would be more than able to magically probe her mind at that point in time, though commanding her to reveal it would probably suffice. So, he thought no more on it and turned his attention to another, far more pleasant, sort of probing. And, thus, he did not learn of Clarice's prior assassination attempt.

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><p>Tune in next time for the thrilling conclusion.<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

My computer is dying on me as I write this so apologize in advance for any messiness. Here it is, the end of the story, the only end I think it could have had, sorry to those who wanted something more or less happy. Speaking of sad, I'm a bit sad to be finishing this up, but I'll be revisiting these themes again some day (considering how slow I post, probably not soon) and with a rather less sicky-sweet leading lady. I've got some thoughts about something, working title "The Numenorian Captivity" if that sounds interesting. So, keep your eyes peeled but don't hold your breath.

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><p>When he was satisfied this time, Sauron, did not send Morwena back to the Lord of the Nazgul's apartments. "I plan to sleep but lightly this night," he told her. "I might desire you later and, in the meantime, your presence in the bed will not disrupt the little use I intend to make of it myself." Long after Morwena had fallen asleep, Sauron sat by the fire, flipping idlely through one of his books. In truth, he had barely glanced at it for he had other, more important, things on his mind. The fact that he might desire Morwena's body again and find it too much trouble to send for her was the least of the reasons he had kept her near. But he had thought it the best one to tell her. The events of the night had showed clearly that someone was trying to poison Morwena and though he did not yet know how, he knew clearly <em>who<em>.

A Lord of Harad had given just such a rare and valuable piece to his favorite some years ago, which meant it should now reside in the jewelry box of Clarice. That it should somehow turn up in Morwena's possession was decidedly suspect. Although the Dark Lord approved of rivalry among his subordinates—it helped keep them on their toes and struggling ever harder to serve him, and besides, it was amusing—he didn't care for it to go _too_ far, especially at higher levels. Political murder might be entertaining but, in the real world, truly capable servants were hard to replace so he generally preferred them alive. He had always known that Clarice was foolish, arrogant, and selfish, but had thought her incapable of more than being a nuisance.

Stepping quietly so as not to disturb Morwena, Sauron went to pick up the necklace where it had been dropped during the night's earlier activities. Back in his seat, he tilted the pendent from side to side, watching the gold gleam in the firelight. Now that he was concentrating fully on the issue at hand, un-distracted by the inviting secret places of Morwena's being, mental as well as physical, he sensed something was wrong almost at once. Turning the piece of metal over, his more than mortal senses instantly picked up on something, which would have completely been beyond the reach of someone like Clarice. His fingers detected a very faint stickiness on the back surface, most noticeable in the deeper crevices of the design and there was the tiniest lingering whiff of a sour smell. The contact poison had been buried in the grooves and depressions of the pendant so that, every time Morwena wore it, some would rub off on her skin.

Truly, he had kept Clarice around for far too long She might be beautiful but she had never really been fit for more than an occasional night of passion, certainly not for official rank or for handling any kind of power. In truth, the only reason he had made her his official mistress was because of the enjoyment he got out of abusing her and torturing her with mind games. The farther she had to fall, the more paranoid she became. But now that it had come down to it and Clarice's greatest fear was about to become reality, Sauron discovered he didn't find it so humorous after all. He had thought Clarice would become so devastated by panic that she would become totally paralyzed but, rather than passively suffering, she had struck back, developing a rift between him and his highest general and almost depriving him of the greatest treasure he had discovered in a long time. Well, now that he knew the whole situation, he would waste no time in bringing things back under control.

Satisfied with his plan of action, Sauron rose to go out to the ante room and deal with some affairs of state. On the way to the door, he passed Morwena and stopped to look down at her. In her sleep, she had partially thrown off the covers and her bare leg lay white against the dark sheets. Careful not to disturb her, he gathered up the blankets and smoothed them back over her before leaving the room.

Morwena's waking the next morning was far from pleasant for she opened her eyes to find herself watched, not by one ring wraith, but by the full honor guard of nine. Her one reassurance on finding herself surrounded by drawn swords was that the Nazgul could hardly be in league with Clarice so they must be here to protect, not slay her.

"You must rise quickly." The voice of the Nazgul Lord came from somewhere behind her. He must be standing in the place of honor at the head of the bed. In obedience to long habit, she moved quickly to obey but, as she sat up and realized she was still unclothed, she lay down again just as swiftly, jerking the covers up to her chin. "There is raiment waiting for you to put on." She did not care for the tone of open amusement in the wraith lord's voice. And something else, now that she listened for it, she could hear as well, a note of grim triumph in his voice. Something had happened or was about to happen which pleased him very much. The fact that it was likely to result in great discomfort for others, only increreased his amusement at the situation. Tightening her mouth in a grim line, Morwena rose into a sitting position a second time, this time more slowly and being careful to pull the sheets around herself as she did so. Yes, she was still in the Lord Sauron's chambers. That was not remarkable as she remembered Him ordering her to remain. The question was why the ring wraiths were here, especially because the Lord Sauron Himself was no where in evidence. She could only assume they were here at His bidding but she had yet to understand the reason. "Where are we are go?" she asked as she slide her legs towards the edge of the bed, clutching the sheet at her throat.

"To the great audience chamber. We will be taking our formal leave of the Lord Sauron before returning to the wars on the marches. You will be remaining here so we will be officially handing you over to his care. I hope, when we return, you shall receive us graciously."

"Most certianly, if I am in any kind of a position to do so." She spoke with a clam elegance, now born of long practice, but, inside, she felt as if her head were spinning out of control. This was all so sudden. Although she had come to be wary of the wraith lord in recent weeks, she still knew she owed almost everything to him. And her new role as a high courtier was still so strange to her, so awkward. There were still so many things she had to struggle to remember. And she highly doubted the Lord Sauron would have either the time or inclination to train her in the intricacies of social graces. It wasn't that He lacked the capacity to be patient with her, rather the revers as He had shown the previous night. But she knew Him well enough by now to correctly guess this was a topic that would bore Him sick and she highly doubted His generosity to her would extend quite _that_ far.

"Don't just sit there gawking," the wraith lord scolded, giving her shoulder a gentle shove with his withered hand. "I would prefer not to spend our last moments together in chiding you." Morwena nodded assent and rose from the bed. As she did so, the circle of wraiths in front of her parted and, beyond, she could she the raiment he had spoken of, laid across a small table. The gown was of black velvet with sleeves she could tell would reach past her knees and, on the opposite side of the table, the train came cascading down, layer upon layer, spreading into an inky pool on the floor. It was so long she was sure she would never be able to walk in it without assistance. Beside the gown rested a girdle and neck piece of gold and gemstones, worth more than the value of all the goods in the viliage where Morwena had been born and every crop they had raised in her lifetime. The splendor of the raiment alone already told her the truth but now she caught sight of a shinning golden hoop amongst the other jewels: a crown. Morwena felt giddy and had to put her hand back against the bed to steady herself. These were not clothes for a mere courtier, no matter how exaulted. This was garb for royalty. The wraiths on either side reached out to help support her and she flinched at the feel of their cool, papery hands against her bare skin.

"You like the gift?" the wraith lord enquired, sounding almost nervous as he stepped forward to lay his hand against the velvet. "My Lord Sauron trusts it will be pleasing to you."

"It is very beautiful," replied Morwena, not sure exactly how to respond as she came forward to pick up the dress. Draping it over her arm, she retreated to the bed and drew the hangings to have a little privacy while she dressed. The Lord of the Nazgul fidgeted with impatience, staring at the closed curtains so intently it seemed he would burn a hole in them. Every second of waiting seemed to last an eternity. Though, logically, nothing could go wrong now, the nearer he came to victory, the greater because his nerves at the thought of failure. And then he saw Morwna's pale fingers came between the curtains, drawing them back so she stood before him in the flowing, night black gown.

Though he had imagined this moment for months now, to actually see her in the dress which he knew, though she did not, betokened her new status as the Lord Sauron's official mistress, made his mind reel with the heady draft of victory. She came forward, the soft velvet of her train silent on the flagstones of the floor. With hands almost trembling, he lifted the circlet and set it on her brow. She drew herself up straight, looking at him with level eyes, and he nodded approvingly. She looked the part, every inch of it, far, far more than Clarice had when she had worn the self same attire at her investiture. Morwena might not be the most adventageous person to hold the position. She had prove to be far less pliable than he had originally anticipated and, despite his aid, there was not the smallest shred of doubt as to the placement of her loyalties. But, despite all this, she deserved the position. She would serve his master well and fulfill all of her duties admirably.

He shook himself, banishing his thoughts. So close now, it would never do to keep the master waiting. "Come." He gestured sharply to Morwena. "It is time for us to be going." And, in spite of everything, she bowed her head and followed without protest. But, when they came to the end of the Lord's chambers and stepped out into the passage beyond, Morwena's heart came into her mouth for the entirity of the Nazgul's host, readied for departure, was ranged along the corridor and down the stairs and, at the sight of her, they all went down on bended knee. The Lord of the Nazgul himself knelt before her and she felt the blood blushing in her face, though she stil did not guess the reason. And this time, when all that great host rose to it's feet and began to move, instead of leading the company, the Nazgul lord walked beside Morwena, guiding her by the hand.

Down they went,through the twisting passages and winding stairs, until they came to the great hall and, as they filed inside, they saw Sauron sitting upon His throne which Morwen now found she had the courage to look up at. He rose and came down the stairs of the dais as the Lord of the Nazgul let her up them, then took her hand and laid it in that of his master before the eyes of all the assembled hosts. Despite the silken touch of His perfect skin, Morwena flinched and almost pulled away for the hand that closed around hers was completely dyed with blood. Almost none of the shining white skin was visible under the dark red stains.

Seeing the widening of her eyes, Sauron mistook the source of her hesitation. "Clarice can not harm you now," he whispered firmly. Though, out of respect for her tender nature, he spared her an account of Clarice's ultimate fate. And, indeed, if he had known, the motive for her uncerainty was closer to his guess than Morwna would have been comfortable with for it was Clarice's blood on his hands. He had entered her room in the first hours of dawn, ordering out her servants and barring the door behind them. At first, Clarice's face had flushed with joy, thinking he had arranged their privacy for a far different reason. But her expression had quickly changed to horror when she read the lust in his eyes and knew it for a lust of a far different sort than what she had wished for.

She had tried to flee then, though part of her must have know the attempt would be futile. But he had grabbed her arm and then, gripping her waist and shoulder, lifted her with more than mortal strength and flung her back on to the bed. The carpet in her room was a fine piece of work and it seemed a shame to spoil it. At least three hours passed before he emerged from Clarice's room and, when he did, he would not allow the maids back in. The clean up was a job for soldiers, who were more accustomed to such sights and had stronger stomachs.

Now, looking at Morwena's dark hair flowing from under the golden circlet and her skin, soft and downy even against the fine velvet, he felt rage surge up in him again. All this had been so nearly lost to him, almost snatched away by one who was now forever beyond vengance. And he wondered, for the hundredth time that day, if he had been too hasty with Clarice, if he should have allowed his time with her to last an hour, two hours, more. But then he looked into Morwena's eyes and all such thoughts drained away. Whatever she had tried to do, Clarice had failed. She was no longer a threat and this beautiful, perfect creature stood beside him, still safe and whole. He would be a fool indeed if he allowed his anger to diminish the joy of this moment, his enjoyment of her, his new lady. Grasping Morwena's hand with steel strong firmness, he drew her as swiftly as possible up onto the dais beside him.

What followed was like being swept away by a tidal wave for Morwena. Before she fully understood what was happening, she found herself standing before the hosts of Mordor, and many foreign leaders besides, being installed as Sauron's official mistress. She could scarcely believe that she, a lowly peasant, was being accorded the highest honor any woman could receive. But it was true. Here was the Lord of the World, King of Men, and God of Fire and He was holding her by the hand, raising it to His lips, commanding all that vast chamber to kneel before her. Her head swam, as the resounding cheers washed over her, and her knees buckled...almost. But something in the depths of her rock-solid, peasant soul held on, even when all the world was reeling around her, keeping her from crumpling to the ground in an embarassing faint.

Her first act in her new position, once she had overcome her shock sufficiently to be able to speak again, was to bestow thanks and gifts on the Lord of the Nazgul for she knew she owed much to him. She did not value her position for power or luxury, but only for the honor and joy it gave her.

She fully expected she would hold her title little longer than Clarice's three years and from the first, painful as it was to think of, she steeled herself to relinquish her place and, if need be, her life when the time came. But there was no need. She became one of the rare few who held her position until the natural close of her mortal span. But time was not without pain for her. As the years wore on, she was called to her Lord's bed less and less often and other women took her place with ever increasing frequency

But, in time, she came to face even this with calm and elegance as well, just as she had once taught herself to face her eventual fall. She was even able to select girls from among her servants to put forward. Yes, she had eventually learned to overcome her fear that her servants would murder her the moment her back was turned, but she did always choose them with great care. In truth, there was little need. Instead of fearing her, as they had Clarice, her maids loved her and those her Lord took to His bed, she comforted and instructed. She taught them literacy and games of skill and other arts that had made herself valued. "So you won't be lonely when I'm gone," she told Sauron one night across the chess board between them. By now, her smoky hair had washed to silver and her hands were etched as deeply as the carved chessmen they lifted.

"Morwena, you would spoil me. Every time we meet, the list of what I demand from a woman waxes ever longer." He reached out and touched her dried leaf skin with a hand that was still smooth and white as milk and she felt a deep pang of wistful longing as she gazed at the unaltered flawlessness of her God of love and desire. She still worshiped Him now and would as long as she had breath to do so. But now she was only ever called to His chambers to read or play chess. It was young Halena, waiting dutifully on them, who would stay for the ultimate blessing, that, even now, she couldn't help selfishly wishing for. Morwena's life was long, for Sauron did all in his power to slow her mortality. But, at last, she reached the end of her strength. In her final fading, whenever the demands of ruling could spare him, Sauron remained at her bedside, not bothering to take even the meager amount of rest and food he normally indulged in. She died with one of her childhood prayers to him on her lips and he mourned her for many long years after, until the world was changed.


End file.
